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POEMS and PICTURES 



5477-174 -S3- 



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A WATER PRINT 



POEMS and 
PICTURES 



BY 



CHARLES THOMAS DUVALL 




BALTIMORE 

W. E. C. HARRISON & SONS 

MCMXIV 



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Copyright, 19 14 
By Charles Thomas Duvall 

Printed by 
Norman T. A. Munder & Co. 

Engravings by 
Alpha Photo-Engraving Co. 



SEP 22 1914 

©CU379616 



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BY WAY OF PREFACE 

O you, who read this printed page, 
Seek here no lofty theme or thought-, 

Its author brings no message sage, 
No remedy with wisdom fraught. 

But just some rhymes, in simple strain, 
Light musings with no high intent, 

Some idle songs and tales as main, 
With wayside pictures inter blent. 

The fruit of scribbling nights and days, 
Of walks in search of camera spoil, 

He gathers and before you lays — 
A record of his pleasant toil. 

And though small worth appear therein, 
And less of real poetic power, 

It still from care your thoughts may win, 
Or serve to fill an empty hour. 




The author of this volume has been a scribbler in 
rhyme for about twenty-five years and a camera "fiend' ' 
for probably half that period. The selections herein are 
representative of his efforts in both capacities. While 
many of the verses have appeared in the papers, a large 
portion of them have never been printed. The pictures 
were chosen from a collection of over three hundred 
views taken from time to time during twelve years of 
tramping in all sections of the city and suburbs. 




si 



CONTENTS 

POEMS 

Absorbing Topic, The 69 

After the Fire ........... 94 

Along the Shore 70 

Artist, An 111 

At the Door 66 

At the Foot of Parnaussus 98 

At the End of His Rope 117 

Aviator, The 33 

Ballade of Conquering 14 

Ballade of Lost Pictures 21 

Ballade of Conditions 45 

Ballade of Failures 49 

Ballade of Rejoicing ......... $8 

Ballade of Striving ......... 61 

Ballade of the Infallible Prophet 77 

Baseball Limericks 72, 

Bicycle, The 119 

Blossom Time ........... 130 

Boss' Turn, The 102 

Brave Young General, The . . . . . ' . . .128 

Broomstick Horse, The . . 109 

Busy Little Man, A 111 

Call By Wireless, A 34 

Call of Maryland, The ......... 78 

Camera, The 37 

Cave, The 154 

Chance 55 

Chant Royal of the Five Senses . . . . . . 80 

Christmas Way, The 56 

Christmas Changes 88 

Circus Parade, The . . .113 

City of Failure, The 146 

Coming of the Rain, The 17 

Common Complaint, A . . .86 



8 CONTENTS 

Daybreak J 3 

Dead Summer, The 4-6 

Death Ship, The • • • H 2 

Declaration, A 5° 

Destruction of the Maine . • M3 

Dewey at Manila '37 

Disgusted Patriot, A i*7 

Dreadful Shock, A II2 

Do You Remember, Sweetheart 2.3 

Doubtful 4 2 

DOIN' 'RlTHMETIC IO ° 

Dusk in the Pines • • .16 

End of the Spanish Fleet, The M 2 

Ever Fair Baltimore 3 1 

Explaining His Failure io 5 

Fallen Idol, A 4° 

Faithless Knight, The i°4 

First One In .... ...... no 

For A Wedding ......••••• 82 

Fountain, The 87 

Freak, A * 12 

Frost Elves, The . . . . 12.6 

Good Reasoning IX 9 

Going to the Country .110 

Gwynn's Falls 3$ 

Hills of Hope, The .... 3° 

Hustler's Wish, A .86 

Huge Joke, A XI 4 

Iceberg and the Ship, The • • 3 2 

In the City ........••••• 39 

In Answer . . . 89 

Last Appeal, A 7 1 

Late Autumn *8 

Leap-Year Episode 64 

Little Gardener, The I]| 8 

Longings for the Sea • • • 4 1 

March Wind's Mission, The io 5 

Marines at Guantanamo l 1% 

Misty Morning, A l & 

Moonlight on the Chesapeake 66 

Most Too Real I2 9 

Neglected Boy, The IG 9 

Newer Independence Day, The 4° 

New Year's Eve . . 62 

New Year's Promise, The 9° 

Nightfall 34 

Noble Firemen, The 12 ° 



CONTENTS 



Not A Success . . . 120 

Old Fort, The ........ . . 26 

Old Schoolhouse, The 96 

Other Way, The 79 

Out of Date . 101 

Over-Talented ........... 46 

Pioneers I 9? 

Playing Indians io6 

Pleasant Dream, A 122 

Poet's Prescription, The 12 

Practical Young Lady, A . . . . ... . .104 

Puzzling 13 

Query, A 54 

Resolution 87 

Retrospect, A 74 

Rock-a-Bye Train, The 102 

Run to the Hills . . . . 158 

Scheme That Failed, A ......... 65 

Sea Ventures . . . .62 

Secret of the Leaves, The . . . . . . . . .125 

Signs of Summer 69 

Skating Weather 126 

Sky Land 74 

Smoothing the Way 122 

Snow Man and the Sun, The ........ 128 

Song of Peace, The 24 

Song of the Snowflakes 127 

Spirit of Christmas, The 25 

Spring Song . . .42 

Strenuous Life, The . . 53 

Summer Storm, A 82 

Sun Worshipper, A 15 

Sunset, A . 18 

Sultry Day, A 29 

Swapping Gifts ........... 57 

Swing, The 118 

Tailor-Made Ghost Story, A 144 

Thanksgiving 54 

Toilers, The 48 

Transformation 47 

Vacation Song ........... 29 

Voyage of the Oregon 134 

Voyaging .... 85 

Walker, The 11 

What's the Use ? 125 

Winter Miracle, A 22 

Winter Walk, The 103 

Wish, A 37 

Witchery of Hallowe'en, The 50 



IO 



CONTENTS 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Abandoned Quarry, Gwynn's Falls Park 
Autumn Path, An .... 
Baltimore's " Grand Canyon " 
Cast up by the Storm . 
Clifton, Clifton Park 
Deepdene Road .... 

First Leayes • 

Footbridge, A 

Garrett Bridge, Druid Hill Park 

Glimpse of Bear Creek, A . 

Gwynn's Falls .... 

Key Monument .... 

Lake Montibello 

Looking Down the River, Fort McHenry Park 

Midwinter Thaw, A 

Mount Clare, Carroll Park 

Obstruction, An .... 

Observatory, Patterson Park . 

Old Rail Fence, An 

One of Baltimore's " Great Lakes 

Over the Hills and Far Away . 

Pasture, The .... 

Ruined Mill ..... 

Shady Road, A 

Spreading Stream, The 

Stony Run, Wyman Park 

Sunlight's Spell, The . 

Sunlit Grove, A 

Through Stony Ways . 

Water Print, A 

Washington Monument 



60 

19 

115 

28 

107 
52 
75 

M9 
59 
5i 
36 
92 

140 
27 
20 

108 

147 
125 

76 
116 

84 

67 
148 

68 

35 

124 

4J 
44 
8? 

2 

9i 





POEMS AND PICTURES 



THE WALKER 

Earth's purest joys to him belong 
Who loves to walk by lane and road, 

Who seeks with eager steps and strong 
The paths to Nature's blest abode. 

His is the breeze upon the hill, 
And his the fragrance of the glade; 

He moves to music of the rill, 
And fares serene through sun and shade. 

A thousand birds make song for him, 
A thousand blossoms cheer his sight ; 

Nor shall the years their beauty dim, 
Or dull the zest of his delight. 

Each ordered season, in its turn, 

Shall weave new spells to charm his sense ; 
No venturous journey but shall earn 

His toil abundant recompense. 

For more than store of worldly goods 

He counts the wealth that 'round him lies, 



12 POEMS AND PICTURES 

The riches of the fields and woods, 
The matchless glory of the skies. 

These will a sure possession be, 
Whatever changes Time may bring; 

A fair estate to hold in fee, 

From which content shall ever spring. 

THE POET'S PRESCRIPTION 

Go, where the gracious Summer weaves 
Her lofty canopy of leaves, 
And on the greensward's mossy breast 
Forget the cares that vex your rest. 
Stretch underneath the kindly trees 
And bare your forehead to the breeze. 
Gaze on the blue vast of the sky, 
Where fleets of laden cloud-ships ply, 
Or watch the shadows drift across 
Green meadows where the daisies toss, 
Like foam upon the emerald waves, 
Whose swell the woodland's margin laves. 
Drink in the fragrant air that blows 
From banks where honeysuckle grows. 
List to the brook's soft monotone 
Till exiled Peace resumes her throne. 
Yield your tired being's every sense 
To Nature's healing influence; 
And wholly cured, you shall depart 
With quiet nerves and tranquil heart. 
Rejoicing in your blessing still, 
Repeat as often as you will, 
And like Antaeus find new birth 
In each touch of your mother earth. 



POEMS AND PICTURES i 3 

DAYBREAK 

At last Night's dusky barrier falls 
And Day looks forth, a shape of fire, 

Across the city's misty walls 

And tips with glory roof and spire. 

Wherever brooding gloom remains 
He thrusts a spear of crimson light, 

And unsuspected domes and vanes 
Flash up like jewels on the sight. 

Adown the silent lanes of brick 

The radiance of his presence streams, 

And all the sleeping world grows quick 
At touch of his reviving beams. 

The varied sounds of toil and strife 
That darkness stilled a little space, 

Start straightway into noisy life 
And with the brightness swell apace. 

While slow, serene, he takes his way 

Up the blue pathway of the sky; 
Haste we and labor as we may, 

The golden hour is passing by. 

PUZZLING 

Whenever I look in memory's glass, 

What pictures there may be, 
And view the doings of by-gone days, 

This one thing puzzles me : 
Why the things and scenes I would most recall 

Have vanished clear away, 
While the times I have made a fool of myself 

Are as fresh as yesterday? 



i 4 POEMS AND PICTURES 

BALLADE OF CONQUERING 

What though the tide of battle sets 

Fairly against us day by day; 
What though defeat despair begets 

And we grow heartsick o'er the hopeless fray; 

Still we as men our parts must play, 
Spite of failure and frequent pain, 

Still must we the command obey, 
"Forward, into the fight again !" 

What though sorrow the eyelids wets, 

As hopes long cherished we see decay; 
What though losses the spirit frets 

And the world before us looks bleak and gray; 

Yet must we each our task essay, 
Yet must we strive with hand and brain — 

The gold lies somewhere under the clay, 
"Forward, into the fight again!" 

What though we fall in the cunning nets 

That ever wait for the feet that stray; 
What though the past awakes regrets 

And thoughts of the future bring dismay; 

Others have traveled the weary way 
And won the summits for which we strain — 

Shall we prove less brave than they? 
"Forward, into the fight again !" 

Envoy 

Comrades, let us not stop nor stay 

Though paths be filled with ghosts of the slain; 
Grip we our courage anew and say, 

"Forward, into the fight again !" 



POEMS AND PICTURES ij 

A SUN WORSHIPPER 

This thing I know: Far down the years 

Some old progenitor of mine 
Told to the sun his hopes and fears 

And bowed him at his glowing shrine. 

Else why would I of later days, 

Who count such heathen worship shame, 
Thrill to the day-god's quickening rays 

In every fiber of my frame? 

When with revivifying beam 

He wakes the torpid life of Spring, 
I follow far his luring gleam 

And with all nature praise and sing. 

When to his wooing Summer yields 

And decks herself in leafy pride, 
I seek the radiance-flooded fields 

And lave me in his shining tide. 

When Autumn feels his milder fire 

And blushes on her hundred hills, 
I long to join his migrant choir 

Whose parting song the woodland fills. 

And when on Winter chill and white 

He flashes from the distant skies, 
I revel in his cheery light 

That warm upon the valley lies. 

And this shall be my joy, I trust, 

Till light and life alike be past; 
Then let the winds disperse my dust 

To mingle with his beams at last. 



i6 POEMS AND PICTURES 

DUSK IN THE PINES 

The last bright beams of the departing day 
Bathe the tall pine tops in their dying glow, 
And bar with light the shadowed trunks below, 
1 Where'er the clustered boughs let in a ray; 

The plume-like branches in the breezes sway 
And wake a sound as of old ocean's flow, 
The pillared aisles more vague and gloomy grow, 

As slow the golden west fades into gray. 

The bird-songs falter, and the night's first star 
Sets its pale lamp against the darkening blue; 

The winds sink to a murmur faint and far, 
And all the grove with fragrance fills anew; 

No boisterous sounds or rude arise to mar 
Earth's peaceful pause between the sun and dew. 

A MISTY MORNING 

The morning mist lies thick and dank 

Around us everywhere, 
And all the world is white and blank 

That spread at sunset fair. 

Gone is the meadow's every sign, 

Alike the orchard trees ; 
E'en the old fence's zigzag line 

One rather knows than sees. 

Familiar forms and shapes of green 

Beyond the garden's rim 
Loom through the vapor's baffling screen 

Uncertain, strange and dim. 



POEMS AND PICTURES iy 

Adown the road a phantom team 

Plods slowly into sight, 
A moment shows as in a dream 

And then is hidden quite. 

No matin song from hill or dell 

Betrays the feathered choir ; 
Far and subdued a ghostly bell 

Chimes from an unseen spire. 

Save this there is no sight or sound 

About the landscape dun, 
But all in drooping silence bound 

Awaits the wind and sun. 



THE COMING OF THE RAIN 

There's a sense of expectation in the air, 
And a hum of preparation everywhere, 

And the clamor waxes high, 

And the dusty legions fly 
As the heralds of the tempest sweep the square. 

The dusky clouds are massing in their might, 
And across the heavens passing thick as night, 
And the thunder-cannons boom, 
And the lightning splits the gloom 
And bathes the earth in sudden, livid light. 

Then the vanguard sends the battle music out, 
As the drops begin to rattle all about, 

And the winds their trumpets blow, 

And with lances all a-row, 
Down the shining column plunges with a shout. 



18 POEMS AND PICTURES 



LATE AUTUMN 



With banners drooping in the frosty air, 

The ragged remnant of the hosts of corn 

Make their last stand upon the hillside torn 
They summer long defended with unbroken square; 
The robber crow, sore pressed to find his fare, 

Calls mournfully about the fields forlorn; 

The golden-rod, of all its glory shorn, 
Droops desolate beside the pathway bare. 
Sport of the wind, the milkweed's downy store 

Is scattered 'mid the branches of the hedge, 
Like the first heralds sent by Winter hoar, 

Who wrapped in cloud bides on the valley's edge, 
Whence his invading troop ere long will pour 

In storming ranks across the frozen sedge. 

A SUNSET 

Broad bands of flame light all the spacious west, 

Where burns the sun in a consuming fire; 

His glowing body, molten, yet entire, 
Sinks slowly down behind the low hills' crest; 
Awhile the clouds his dying beams arrest, 

And straight their softer tints new thoughts inspire 

No more I see a conflagration dire, 
But, dreaming, follow that heroic quest 
Sung by old bards in the brave age of Greece, 

Whose glories brighten down the centuries, 
And I behold a ship, with winds at peace, 

Move on its course by scarce-perceived degrees — 
Deep-laden Argo with the golden fleece, 

And Jason homing over Eastern seas. 




An Autumn Path, Windsor Hills 




A Midwinter Thaw — Near Walbrook 



POEMS AND PICTURES 21 

BALLADE OF LOST PICTURES 

Our album holds full many a view, 

Our walls some worthy prints display, 
Good subjects we possess, a few, 

And films that scrutiny repay; 

But still our wayward thoughts will stray 
To scenes where we with failure met, 

Fond memories that ever stay — 
The pictures that we didn't get. 

The search for beauty we pursue, 

In every field we seek our "prey," 
We hunger for material new, 

And make exposures where we may; 

And though results much skill betray, 
We feel no less a vague regret 

For those we've missed and lost for aye — 
The pictures that we didn't get. 

Elusive graces still we woo, 

Each subtle charm we would portray, 
Though trifles oft our care undo, 

And error spoils the best essay; 

Development has gone astray, 
Or shutter has been wrongly set — 

What glowing fancies round them play — 
The pictures that we didn't get. 

Envoy 

The biggest fish still gets away, 

The noblest game escapes the net, 
And we alike bewail today 

The pictures that we didn't get. 



22 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A WINTER MIRACLE 

We walked the fields at set of sun, 
What time grim Winter kept his state, 

And thought eyes ne'er had looked upon 
A world more bleak or desolate. 

Black limbed and gaunt against the west 
The leafless woodland reared its head ; 

And all above earth's frozen breast 
But late in bloom lay gray and dead. 

From out the north, portending storm, 
Vast cloud-shapes blotted out the day; 

We turned and sought our chamber warm 
And shut the dreary scene away. 

We rose at dawn and stood o'erawed 

Before the splendor of the sight ; 
A noiseless host had been abroad 

And wrought a wonder in the night. 

O'er withered field and barren glade 
The snow a spotless veil had flung; 

To every bough and bush and blade 
The fleecy flakes had caught and clung. 

Familiar vistas through the wood 

The vision strove in vain to trace; 
The trees in misty whiteness stood 

That blurred all sense of form or space. 

The willows wore a hoary crown, 

And e'en the boulders in the stream 
Were cushioned o'er with softest down 

Where frost-elves well might couch and dream. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 23 

O gracious Power, that gives so much ! 

Who would have dreamed a scene so bare, 
Beneath His love's transforming touch, 

Could thus become so heavenly fair ? 



DO YOU REMEMBER, SWEETHEART? 

Do you remember, sweetheart, 

The summer days gone by, 
When earth was in her rarest mood 

And glory filled the sky? 
The fields were all a-blossom then, 

The woods with birds were gay, 
And every brook made melody 

Along our sunny way. 

Do you remember, sweetheart, 

The happy hours we spent 
Upon the hillside's grassy slope 

Beneath the oak's green tent? 
The stream ran sparkling far below 

Its curving banks between, 
And vagrant cloud shapes drifted by 

Across the blue serene. 

Do you remember, sweetheart, 

The pathway through the glade — 
The leafy aisles that led our feet 

To cloistered nooks of shade? 
The fallen tree, where oft we sat, 

Has mingled with the mold, 
Yet must your true heart cherish still 

Those blissful days of old. 



24 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE SONG OF PEACE 

The song that filled Judea's plain 

That starry night of old, 
When angels sang the wondrous strain, 

Adown the years has rolled ; 
And strong and clear today as when 

The world first felt its thrill, 
Above the clash of heedless men 

It rings and echoes still. 

Though oft the din of savage war 

Has whelmed the joyful sound, 
And zealot hate with rabid roar 

As oft in discord drowned, 
Yet through the centuries of wrong 

Love has preserved each word, 
And Faith has seen the angel throng, 

And listening Hope has heard. 

And earth at last, by strife o'erwrought, 

Looks to a milder sway, 
As men, by larger wisdom taught, 

Would lay the sword away; 
While gentle hearts and kind rejoice 

And Bethlehem's song repeat, 
And nations, harkening to the voice, 

Have found its message sweet. 

And as the years bring round the feast 
That woke the blest refrain, 

May the glad chorus be increased 
Till Peace supreme shall reign ! 



POEMS AND PICTURES 25 

Till every land and every tongue, 

Released from martial woe, 
Shall join the song by angels sung 

That Christmas long ago! 

THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS 

O Spirit of the Christmas time, 

To you I lift my verses; 
You give the bells a blither chime 

And open hearts and purses. 

You make this old world heaven-fair 

And banish gloom and sadness ; 
You lure men from life's sordid care 

To join in childhood's gladness. 

You blight the weeds that faith destroy 
And start love's flowers growing; 

You touch the sluggish pulse of joy 
And set the warm blood flowing. 

You oft renew affection's blaze 

In lives whose bliss was squandered; 

You lead back to remembered ways 
The feet that far had wandered. 

You turn from contemplated wrong 

The souls who hatred treasure ; 
You teach the lips unused to song 

To wake a gleeful measure. 

So, gentle spirit, take my lay 

And speed your mission ever, 
And may the years extend your sway 

Until you leave us never. 



26 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE OLD FORT 

Fort McHenry, whose gallant defense inspired the " Star-Spangled Banner." 

No more along the parapet her guards pace to and fro, 
No more her sunset gun resounds above Patapsco; 
Her shuttered barracks stand forlorn, no hurrying 

troopers pass; 
The old parade ground's lines are hid beneath effacing 

grass. 
She who ne'er yielded to the foe must yield to circum- 
stance ; 
Vain now the watch she long has kept o'er Chesapeake's 

expanse ; 
The need that raised her storied walls does not exist 

today, 
Yet from our life her name and fame can never pass 

away. 
For 'twas upon her hallowed soil our flag waved through 

the night, 
What time the foe attacked our land in vengeful hate 

and spite; 
And from her heights inspiring gleams across the deep 

were borne 
To him who watched with straining gaze that gray 

September morn. 
Then let the old fort stand intact, the chiefest of our 

shrines, 
Her deathless glory ever linked with Key's immortal 

lines ; 
Still let her silent cannons keep their station by the 

shore, 
And let her starry banner wave above them evermore. 
And pilgrim feet shall hither come to pass with reverent 

tread 
Along the ramparts Valor held in those dark days of 

dread ; 
And generations yet unborn shall to her slopes repair 
And gazing on her streaming flag rejoice to see it there. 




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POEMS AND PICTURES 2g 

VACATION SONG 

Away from the town, away ! 

Away to the woods and fields ! 
To the blooming leas and the fragrant breeze 

And the pleasures nature yields ! 

Away from the burning streets 

And the killing grind of trade 
To the dewy sheen of the meadows green 

And the woodland's soothing shade ! 

Away from the city's roar 

To the song the brooklet sings, 
To the waters cool and the quiet pool 

Where the swallow dips his wings ! 

Away to the founts of health ! 

To the medicine of the hills ! 
To gain new life to face the strife, 

And conquer the future's ills. 



A SULTRY DAY 

The hazy fields are dumb and motionless, 

The woods are still in every dreaming spray, 
The blossoms droop beside the dusty way, 

Faint with the ardor of the sun's caress ; 

All living things the subtle spell confess, 

The choir is mute that made the morning gay, 
Hushed is each bird note, save the plaintive lay 

Of wood-thrush, calling from some dim recess. 

Anon the scene a breath of air receives, 

A languid zephyr, that has scarce the power 

To wake a drowsy murmur in the leaves 
Or rock the bee upon his honied, flower, 

Then Time, who near had slept, the charm unweaves 
And lazily tolls out the passing hour. 



jo POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE HILLS OF HOPE 

We tread the dreary round of toil, 

As duty bids or need; 
Deep in the valley's depths we moil, 

Where wrong and evil breed. 
Around us rise the shining hills, 

With pleasant groves o'erspread, 
Whose paths, when time our hope fulfills, 

We mean our feet shall tread. 

We labor through the weary days, 

Amid the dust and gloom, 
And ever lift a longing gaze 

Up to those peaks of bloom; 
Then turn and strike a stronger blow, 

And set a sterner face, 
And onward strive, with heart aglow, 

Resolved to win a place. 

Ofttimes to lowest depths we fall, 

And lose life's kindly cheer, 
Despair enshrouds us like a pall, 

And failure seems anear; 
But still upon the hills of hope 

The sunrise glory gleams, 
And still love beckons up the slope 

That leads us to our dreams. 

O fainting soul, be not dismayed ! 

Press on unto the goal ; 
Attack each barrier unafraid, 

With purpose firm and whole ; 



POEMS AND PICTURES ji 

Nor murmur if the way be long, 

Nor falter in the quest, 
And you shall join the victor throng 

Upon those heights of rest. 



EVER FAIR BALTIMORE 

Proudly she sits like a queen in her splendor, 

Throned on her hills at the head of the bay; 
Graced with the best Art and Nature can lend her, 

Glowing by night and inspiring by day. 
Bright are the names on the page of her glory, 

Garlands she wears both for beauty and lore; 
Splendid the deeds that illumine her story, 

Town of our love, ever fair Baltimore ! 

Chorus 

Sing to her, sing to her, swell the glad chorus, 
Tell out her name all the broad country o'er; 

Great things behind us and greater before us, 
Forward in faith, Baltimore, Baltimore ! 

Wide are her gates to the toiler and planner, 

Ready she stands to encourage and aid; 
Guarding the rights of all under her banner ; 

Just in her laws and straightforward in trade. 
Fronting the future with purpose unswerving, 

True to the best in her annals of yore ; 
Surely no other is worthy our serving, 

Town of our love, ever fair Baltimore. 

Issued in Sheet-music form. For Sale at the principal music stores or 6ent 
postpaid for 12 cents (stamps) by the author, 210 Guilford Ave., Baltimore. 



32 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE ICEBERG AND THE SHIP 

The ^Titanic," April 14, 1912. 

From the heart of the polar regions, 

In a glacier-guarded bay, 
With a crash of riven mountains, 

An iceberg broke away. 
"I am called," it hoarsely thundered, 

"And I follow afar and free; 
I am called to my work in the fog and mirk 

Where the great ships dare the sea." 

And out by the rocky headland 

That clutched it with futile hands, 
Away through the icy water, 

Unchecked by its brittle bands; 
And out past the bold sea-fishers, 

Who shrank from its frosty breath, 
Through many a day it crushed its way 

A huge white shape of death. 

From her port on the further ocean 

Steamed forth the brave new ship, 
A marvel of human effort, 

She sped on her maiden trip ; 
Two thousand souls for her burden, 

And never was freight more dear, 
And she swept the tide in strength and pride 

A thing that knew not fear. 

When out of the midnight darkness, 

Rose a wall of crystal rock, 
And fair on the iceberg's ledges 

She struck with splintering shock; 



POEMS AND PICTURES 33 

And, her iron sides rent asunder, 
Down the sea's dark depths she spun, 

And the far-called doom passed o'er her tomb, 
Its awful work was done. 



THE AVIATOR 

Secure upon my slender seat 
I upward speed — a thing elate; 

Fast falls the earth beneath my feet, 
The soaring eagle is my mate. 

I slant my flexile wings of steel 
And shoot into the upper blue, 

Or turn my sentient steering wheel 
And sail the silent regions through. 

I dive; I soar; I ride at will 
The waves of the uncharted air; 

My humming motor drives me still 
To heights no feathered travelers dare. 

I revel in the realms of light ! 

I drink the winds of ecstasy ! 
I note with ever-fresh delight 

The glorious prospect spread for me ! 

Let timid souls contented crawl 
About the narrow land's confine; 

Give me my winged ship and all 

The boundless world of space for mine ! 



34 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A CALL BY WIRELESS 

Should the receiver of your heart 
Thrill to an influence strange, 

Fear not; 'tis but that Cupid's art 
Has brought you in my range. 

Long while on lonely seas adrift, 
Storm-tossed and sore afraid, 

I've seized the age's latest gift 
And sent this call for aid. 

Believing Love would guide it true, 
I've flashed it far and free, 

And this glad day I'll bless if you 
Have caught my C. Q. D. 



NIGHTFALL 

With softest step, in sober garments clad, 
Laden with blessings and large-hearted cheer, 
The gracious presence of the Night draws near, 

And from the tired hands of the toiler glad 

She takes the task ; wheels cease their whirrings mad 
At her light touch ; days' worries disappear, 
As freely she bestows her treasures dear 

With equal favor on the gay and sad. 

All they that labor drove abroad at morn 
Turn swiftly homeward at her beckoning, 

And lonely hearths, and households long forlorn, 
Are bright with joy and gay with welcoming; 

E'en to the meanest drudge her grace is borne, 
And he whom Day made slave she makes a king. 




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POEMS AND PICTURES 37 

THE CAMERA 

My eye takes in a thousand things : 

The leaf that falls, the vine that clings, 

The blossom lifting to the sun, 

The streamlet where the ripples run, 

The torrent pouring o'er the ledge, 

The lily at the mill-pond's edge, 

The towering rock-cliff's rugged lines, 

The clean-cut silhouette of the pines, 

The kine knee-deep in waters cool, 

The shadow in the glassy pool, 

The outspread valley's blooming miles, 

The shady woodland's sun-flecked aisles, 

The swaying rushes by the brook, 

The wind-swept river's wrinkled look, 

The foam-line of the breaking seas, 

The white sails swelling with the breeze, 

The scenes of home, the friendly face, 

The witchery of childhood's grace ; 

All these I gather up and set 

Within my darkened cabinet, 

The which, when duly taken thence, 

And fixed with certain elements, 

Shall keep undimmed their pictured charm 

Through season's change and age's harm. 

A WISH 

Though days be dark or sunny, 
Good Luck keep you in care, 

And love and friends and money 
Be yours in ample share. 



j8 POEMS AND PICTURES 

GWYNN'S FALLS 

Dear loved stream, still winding down 
Through crowding hills a devious way, 

Give me to bring your charms renown 
And lend your music to my lay. 

Through sun and shade, by height and plain, 
With many a carven curve and bend, 

You hasten downward to the main 
Wherein your troubled course must end. 

Now rushing down a rocky ledge, 

Now resting in a quiet pool, 
Now creeping through the waving sedge, 

You keep no law and own no rule. 

And changing with your changeful flow, 
I hear your voice's varying tones, 

Here through smooth reaches singing low, 
There raging* at impeding stones. 

The beeches spread their roots and drink 
The grateful coolness of your wave, 

And drooping willows at the brink, 
Their branches in your waters lave. 

O'er your still depths the swallows skim, 
The hawk, high-poised, a shadow floats, 

And songbirds, 'round your current's brim, 
Make glad the valley with their notes. 

The while you glide with swelling strength, 
Upgathered from a hundred rills, 

Till in the river's flood at length 
Your tide its destiny fulfills. 



POEMS AND PICTURES jg 

So take my song, old friend, though weak 

And poor the tribute that I bring; 
May it tempt kindred souls to seek 

The beauties that I fain would sing. 



IN THE CITY 

The black smoke drifts across the sky, 
A blot on God's unclouded blue, 

And grimy buildings, blank and high, 
On either hand fill up my view. 

Without the tide of traffic flows 
And fills the street with its uproar, 

Whereon the sun so fiercely glows 
The stones are like an oven floor. 

And sudden longing, born of these, 
Wakes olden memories in my brain, 

And fancy from the present flees 

And seeks the scenes of youth again. 

Above the tumult of the streets, 
Above these stifling airs of death, 

I hear the song the brook repeats, 

And catch the pine-trees' fragrant breath. 

And while my body here today 

Its customary task fulfills, 
In spirit I am far away, 

Among the everlasting hills. 



4 o POEMS AND PICTURES 

A FALLEN IDOL 

Forlorn and friendless, day by day, 
Fie stands with wistful eye 

Beside the city's busy way 
And sees the world go by. 

His name was once a word to charm, 
Men strove his help to win, 

His voice had power to save or harm 
What cause he entered in. 

But now, unnoticed by the throng, 

An idle part he plays ; 
His triumphs to the past belong, 

His fame to other days. 

The tide that bore him on its crest 
Through sunny days and fair 

Has ebbed, with swiftness all unguessed, 
And left him stranded there. 

THE NEWER INDEPENDENCE DAY 

When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurled her standard to the air 
She little reckoned what a sight 

Of trouble we would have to bear; 
She hardly thought the time would be 

When it would all Law's wits require 
To curb her lively progeny 

And quench their patriotic fire. 

She never dreamed her votive youth 
So ardently would celebrate 



POEMS AND PICTURES 41 

That her great day would grow in truth 

A thing for men to execrate ; 
That people over all the land 

Would her enthusiasts revile 
And fly to some more peaceful strand 

Or wish they might be deaf awhile. 

And if the goddess could today 

Declare her sentiments to us, 

I do not doubt that she would pray 

A worship not so strenuous ; 
Then give her praise — an ample share, 

Nor yield an atom of your joys 
But — just a little more of care 

And just a little less of noise. 



LONGINGS FOR THE SEA 

Oh, for a day upon old ocean's shore ! 

The wet beach gleaming in the bright sunshine, 

The fresh breeze blowing over leagues of brine, 
And white surf pounding on the sandy floor; 
To watch the long swells rolling evermore, 

And slow ships creeping up the dim sky line, 

Swift would I fly, as pilgrim to a shrine, 
Whose goal attained will his lost joys restore; 
So might I feel once more the olden thrall 

Of wind and wave and salt spray flying free, 
Might hear across the tide the fishers call, 

And catch the shouts of bathers in their glee, 
Mixed with child laughter — and above it all 

The rhythmic surge of the majestic sea. 



42 POEMS AND PICTURES 

SPRING SONG 

"Spring, gentle Spring." 

Now Winter sees his power wane, 

And rising up betimes, 
Departs with all his stormy train, 

For more congenial climes ; 
Throughout the reawakened land 

A milder reign is sung, 
And thus we clearly understand 

That "gentle Spring" has "sprung." 

The streamlet breaks the icy hush 

Wrought by the north wind keen, 
And Nature with artistic brush 

Now paints the landscape green; 
Upon the boughs the buds come out 

Where late icicles clung, 
Which goes to prove beyond a doubt 

That "gentle Spring" has "sprung." 

The birds that vanished with the leaves 

Now suddenly appear, 
And chatter daily round our eaves 

Of Summer's coming cheer, 
While each nest-building conference 

The blooming groves among 
Affords conclusive evidence 

That "gentle Spring" has "sprung." 

DOUBTFUL 

Breathes there a man with soul so dead 
Who never to himself has said : 
"Great Scott ! here is that letter yet 
My wife said I must not forget." 




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POEMS AND PICTURES 4s 

BALLADE OF CONDITIONS 

When life is smooth and the skies are blue, 

And we move along through quiet days, 
With nothing at all in the world to do, 

'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways ; 

But when the pulse of the times betrays 
A fever-fire in its rapid beat, 

And thought finds vent in impassioned phrase, 
Then ho ! for the rush and roar of the street. 

When the clouds of care are faint and few, 

And trouble far from our presence strays, 
With prospects wearing a roseate hue, 

'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways ; 

But when the rallying trumpet brays, 
And legions haste on eager feet, 

And the struggling hosts their slogans raise, 
Then ho ! for the rush and roar of the street. 

When the future looks serene to view, 

And Peace on the spirit her soft spell lays 
With all things tranquil the broad land through, 

'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways ; 

But when the fires of conflict blaze, 
And rival forces fiercely meet, 

And the flag of victory bends and sways, 
Then ho ! for the rush and roar of the street. 

Envoy 

When life in the pulses sluggish plays, 
'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways ; 
But when the tide runs strong and fleet, 
Then ho ! for the rush and roar of the street. 



46 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE DEAD SUMMER 

Softly, softly, let us tread, 
Summer lies beneath us dead ; 
She who joyed in woodlands green 
And the meadow's golden sheen, 
She who laughed in all the rills 
Rippling down her sunny hills, 
Lieth here beneath the mold, 
Killed by Winter's frost and cold. 

Ah, it seems but yesterday 

That we roamed her bowers gay, 

Seeking 'mid her ample store 

Blossoms that we loved of yore, 

While the birds sang in her praise 

Madrigals and roundelays, 

And the sun the long hours through 

Wooed her from the heavens blue. 

Now her groves are brown and bare, 
And no birds sing anywhere, 
Not a note the silence stirs — 
Gone are all her worshippers ; 
And the chill December breeze 
Blows the last leaves from the trees, 
And the sun makes briefer stay 
Since her spirit passed away. 

OVER-TALENTED 

Ah, better far it is to be 

Blest with one gift that shines 

Than cursed with mediocrity 
In half-a-dozen lines ! 



POEMS AND PICTURES 47 

For instance : You could hardly name 

A thing Jones couldn't do; 
Of ways to reach success and fame 

A score at least he knew. 

But yet his talents, strange to say, 

Were not of much avail 
In helping him to make his way 

Or fill his dinner pail. 

While Smith, whose wit and skill are small, 

His course triumphant goes ; 
On one thing only can he call, 

But that one thing he knows. 

And so Jones hustles hard and long 

To make his two ends meet, 
While Smith in power waxes strong 

And lives on Easy Street. 

Hence we contend : Far better be 

Blest with one gift that shines 
Than cursed with mediocrity 

In half-a-dozen lines. 

THE TRANSFORMATION 

He goes his way, clear-eyed and brave, 

To face his weighty business cares, 
You'd think him far too staid and grave 

For aught except life's stern affairs ; 
But see him at the baseball game, 

His coat is off, his hat askew, 
His eyes are wild, his face aflame, 

He's yelling like an Indian, too. 



48 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE TOILERS 

Two toilers, toiling in the sun, 
Strove each in his accustomed way; 

One served for self alone and one 

Wrought under love's inspiring sway. 

One planned a work of noble scope 
And to the task his hands applied; 

But wearied soon, and losing hope, 
He cast it scarce begun aside. 

The other took the matter crude, 
And laboring with earnest will, 

Saw the design, unformed and rude, 
Take shape beneath his loving skill. 

Each day he sought it with delight 
As slow it grew the thing he meant, 

And though he oft knew failure's blight 
He faltered not in his intent. 

At last, his patient efforts through, 
Content he saw his labors cease, 

And set the work for men to view, 
And lo, they cried, "A masterpiece !" 

The work the one had found too hard, 
Who measured by self's narrow laws, 

Gained for the other rich reward 
And won a grateful world's applause. 

I hold in plans or small or great 
Our faith must enter to prevail ; 

The heart will conquer soon or late, 
No work of love can wholly fail. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 49 

BALLADE OF FAILURES 

Day by day, be it foul or fair, 

Regular as the matin peal, 
On the busiest corner of the square 

Gather a band of comrades leal ! 

Little of kinship, though, they feel, 
Save that life holds for all the same ; 

Failure upon them has set his seal — 
"These are down and out of the game !" 

Summer and Winter they thither fare 
Drawn as the magnet draws the steel, 

To watch a struggle they never share, 
To stand supine in a world of zeal : 
To mark the changes the hours reveal, 

Till the sun goes down in the west aflame, 
Content if night brings a bed and a meal — 
"These are down and out of the game !" 

Motley the company gathered there, 

Odds and ends from Fate's flying reel : 
Spendthrifts, careless and debonair, 

Beggars, shabby from head to heel ; 

Wearying friendship with bold appeal, 
Dead to honor and lost to shame, 

Mourning the turn of Fortune's wheel, 
"These are down and out of the game !" 

Envoy 

Youth, ere you enter the conflict, kneel, 

Pray quick passage from praise and blame, 

Or ever men thus with your record deal : 
"These are down and out of the game !" 



50 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE WITCHERY OF HALLOWE'EN 

The witchery of hallowe'en, 

It tingles in the air ! 
And spirits walk the halls unseen 

Or lurk upon the stair; 
We know their work in everything 

By ways we can't explain, 
The bells that curiously ring 

The ghost-taps at the pane. 

The witchery of hallowe'en, 

It steals into the breast ! 
It comes our sober days between 

And gives to life a zest ; 
When with the merry throng we prove, 

By foolish spell or rhyme, 
The truth of charms that only move 

At this enchanted time. 

The witchery of hallowe'en, 

We freely own its power ! 
May each return still find us keen 

For Folly's fleeting hour; 
And let the years steal what they may 

From joys to which we've clung, 
So that they spare each festal day 

That keeps this old world young! 



A DECLARATION 

Dear heart, I've striven long to find 
Some way to tell my state of mind 

In language due ; 
But vain my toil, my sighs, my tears ; 
No thought will come, no line appears 
Save this : "I'm over head and ears 

In love with you." 




A Glimpse of Bear Creek— Off the North Point Road 




Deepdene Road, Roland Park 



POEMS AND PICTURES S3 

THE STRENUOUS LIFE ' 

Wake ! for the sun has ushered in the day ; 
The city clamors and you must away — 

Why rail then at the fate that drives you forth 
Or swear at Time for that he will not stay? 

Quick ! sieze the cup of coffee scalding hot ; 
The hasty roll, the egg, — no matter what ; 

There is no time to feast if you would keep 
Your hard-won fame of "Johnny-on-the-spot." 

Rush wildly forth, leave wide both door and gate, 
The trolley's coming and it will not wait; 

Haste now, lest you be left along with those 
Who beat the empty air and wail, "Too late !" 

Attack your work; exert your utmost power, 
With thought to crowd a week into an hour — 

You dare not take your leisure if you hope 
From all the throng to pluck Success's flower. 

Dash out at noon unto the lunchroom nigh, 
Bolt down your sandwich and prepare to fly; 

The clock speaks with inexorable voice 
And bids you hence, nor tarry for the pie. 

Fill thus the hours, nor cease e'en with the light, 
But push your labors far into the night ; 

There is so much that waits accomplishment 
And soon comes Death to claim his oft-scorned right. 

And when the scribe whom wiser ways shall rule 
Stands where you lie beneath the grasses cool 
And reads the too-brief record of your years, 
It may be he will write, "Here was a fool !" 



54 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A QUERY 

My aforetime plunging friend, 

Now you've reached your tether's end 

And must henceforth calmly wend 

With the herd ; 
Without quibble or pretense, 
Out of your experience, 
Answer me in confidence 

Just a word. 

You have walked in joyous ways 
All the morning of your days 
And have let your spirits blaze 

Unrestrained ; 
Every pleasure you have tried 
That your pocket could provide, 
Nor threw you the cup aside 

Until drained. 

So, your folly being done, 

And your comrades fled, each one, 

Tell me ere your race be run 

On the earth ; 
As you reckon up your lot, 
All you had and now have not, 
Do you really think you got 

Your money's worth? 

THANKSGIVING 

Lord of our days, with grateful hearts 
For plenteous tokens of thy grace, 

Awhile we close our mills and marts, 
Forget our toil, and give Thee place. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 55 

For all Thy mercies, guarding still, 
We would in humble thanks unite: 

For work that kept our hands from ill, 
For love that led our steps aright. 

And as we gather to our feast, 
Though rich our table be or spare, 

Grant we may feel that not Thy least 
Through act of ours shall poorer fare. 

Grant all who for our needs provide, 
Who speed the arts or till the soil, 

May have this festal harvest tide 
An ampler portion for their toil. 

Increase our wisdom and our strength, 

Teach us to use our goodly store 
So that throughout our fair land's length 

The cry of want be heard no more. 



CHANCE 

I am the maddest sprite that walks the earth, 

Upon mankind I vent my frolic thought, 

Order and rule I ever set at naught, 
I crown with honors one devoid of worth, 
I give him plenty who deserveth dearth, 

And teach the fool what Wisdom vainly sought; 

Many the transformations I have wrought, 
I turn life topsy-turvy for my mirth, 
I make the beggar rich, the vassal king — 

There are no bounds to my extravagance ; 
When brave men battle for some priceless thing, 

And do and dare their fortunes to advance, 
Ofttimes the prize with random hand I fling 

To some dull clown who never lifted lance. 



j6 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE CHRISTMAS WAY 

The Christmas Way is broad and fair, 
And all men may pass freely there; 
Across the world it stretches far, 
Back to one brightly-gleaming star, 
Whose glory streams in widening ray 
Adown the love-set Christmas way. 

There Hope and Joy go hand in hand 
And scatter blessings through the land, 
And Kindly Heart and Goodly Cheer 
Amid the foremost there appear ; 
While merry jest and laughter gay 
Make music on the Christmas Way. 

There Gladness walks and jolly Mirth, 
And bells peal sweetly, "Peace on earth," 
And over all the happy throng 
Resounds the old angelic song, 
"Good-will to men !" the swelling lay 
Thrills through the crowded Christmas Way. 

There, too, on either side, a row 

Of gift-booths stand, a wondrous show, 

Each one with evergreens bedight 

And mistletoe and holly bright ; 

And eager, glad-voiced children stray 

In rapture down the Christmas Way. 

O man, beset by Sin and Care, 
Or meshed in Money's golden snare, 
Cast off your bonds, put worry by, 
Come, with clean heart and beaming eye, 



POEMS AND PICTURES 57 

And wander back to childhood's day 
Along the blessed Christmas Way. 



SWAPPING GIFTS 
A Christmas Suggestion 

Now brother's got a walking-stick, 

A present he abominates ; 
And sister's waist just makes her sick, 

It is a shade she fairly hates ; 
And mother's gift's a patent thing 

For toasting bread — which she can't bear- 
And father has a signet ring, 

Who jewelry would never wear. 

And they have picked, with equal skill, 

Their maiden aunt a carving knife ; 
A lounging robe for Uncle Bill, 

Who never lounged in all his life ; 
A set of James for Cousin Sue, 

Who doesn't like his works a jot, 
And all the presents seem askew 

And no one likes the thing they got. 

If, then, we rack our wits in vain, 

And all for naught each year go broke, 
The giving will become a pain, 

And Christmas but a sorry joke ; 
And so that no one will be vexed, 

And none be blamed for lack of sense, 
Let's get together ere the next 

And swap with some intelligence. 



j8 POEMS AND PICTURES 

BALLADE OF REJOICING 

Though lusty Winter storms amain 

Against the walls of our retreat, 
Though frequent falls the chilling rain 

And masks the dreary world in sleet; 

Though mists enfold us, dense, complete, 
And skies ne'er show a rift of blue, 

Still sings my heart with rapture meet, 
" Tis always Summer, dear, with you." 

Though unseen hands across the pane 

Stretch night by night a frosty sheet, 
Though brooklets bear an icy chain 

And flow no more in ripples fleet ; 

Though never comes our ears to greet 
One note of all the birds we knew, 

Still to the strain my pulses beat, 
" Tis always Summer, dear, with you." 

Though snowdrifts fill the field and lane 

And hide the paths where passed our feet, 
Though loud the mourning woods complain 

For all their leafy pomp and sweet ; 

Though ne'er the sun with kindly heat 
The barren branches sparkles through, 

Yet must my joyful tongue repeat, 
" Tis always Summer, dear, with you." 

Envoy 

Love, thus would I the season greet, 
Though nature wears a sombre hue ; 

This makes my life with bliss replete, 
" Tis always Summer, dear, with you." 




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POEMS AND PICTURES 61 

BALLADE OF STRIVING 

In an ever changing show 

Moves the throng of passers-by, 
Proud and humble, swift and slow, 

Every state you may descry; 

Dauntless youth with courage high, 
Cautious age with sober pace, 

Side by side for favors try — 
This is Fortune's open race ! 

Late and early on they go, 

Firm of lip and stern of eye, 
Summer's heat nor Winter's snow 

Ever turns their course awry; 

Daring all beneath the sky, 
Forward to the goal they chase, 

Each resolved to win or die — 
This is Fortune's open race ! 

Little time for rest they know, 

Little time for laugh or sigh ; 
Naught they fear but overthrow 

Ere the golden prize be nigh ; 

"Faster, faster," runs the cry, 
"Speed's the only saving grace !" 

Toiling, panting, on they fly — 
This is Fortune's open race ! 

Envoy 

Let us ponder, you and I, 
Ere with these we take our place, 

Will the gain the loss supply? 
This is Fortune's open race ! 



62 POEMS AND PICTURES 

NEW YEAR'S EVE 

The New Year at the threshold stands, 
He comes to be awhile our guest; 
Haste we and set him forth our best, 

Such as his high estate demands. 

Prepare the chamber of the heart, 
Put all its worn-out gear aside; 
Let no profaning thing abide 

That of the Old Year made a part. 

Sweep out each lingering vice of youth, 
The follies born of thoughtless blood ; 
Call back the olden love of good, 

And trim anew the lamp of truth. 

Cast off the foulness and the sin, 
The habits that to evil lead ; 
Make sweet the dwelling for his need, 

And bid the New Year enter in. 

SEA VENTURES 

The ships, in all their snowy pride, 
Drop slowly seaward with the tide; 
I stand here at the harbor side 

And watch them outward steer; 
And oft I wonder as I gaze, 
Of all the ships mine eye surveys, 
How many will in after days 
In port again appear? 



POEMS AND PICTURES 63 

Ah ! not a few before the blast, 
Will sink beneath the waters vast, 
Or on some rocky shore be cast, 

Dismantled, battered wrecks ; 
Yet none the less, the vessels will — 
Let winds blow fair or winds blow ill — 
Go forth on man's adventures still 

Wherever Fortune becks. 

We, too, send forth our ships, with cheers, 

Out on the sea of changeful years, 

And wait, with varying hopes and fears, 

To greet their coming home. 
Till tidings blown from shores afar 
Of treacherous sands or sunken bar, 
And strong boats foundered, hull and spar, 

Tell us they will not come. 

But though Fate thus our efforts mocks, 
Not all the dread of tempest shocks, 
Of hostile sails and hidden rocks, 

Can e'er our faith subdue ; 
And soon upon that shifting main 
Our ships go bravely forth again, 
Though cravens cry "Your toil is vain, 

Why still the shade pursue ?" 

Hope on, brave heart ; the tide must turn ; 
We cannot Fortune's ways discern, 
Though now she every offering spurn, 

She yet may with us dwell; 
When borne before a favoring gale, 
Our ships return with swelling sail, 
And to our faint and trembling hail, 

Send back a glad "All's, well !" 



64 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A LEAP-YEAR EPISODE 

They were gathered in the office, for the boss was not 

around, 
And they talked on various topics with sagacity pro- 
found, 
Until someone mentioned leap-year and the privilege 

ladies had 
Of proposing for a husband then if one they wanted 

bad. 
There was Jones, the city salesman; Smith, the keeper 

of the cash, 
And Robinson and Jackson, and they all spoke up quite 

rash 
Of the way they'd treat a lady who might offer them her 

hand, 
And the sentiments they uttered were magnanimous and 

grand ; 
When the door abruptly opened and a female entered 

there, 
A lady large and stately, with a most determined air, 
And o'er that group of noble men her flashing glances 

ran, 
Then she in manner resolute began, "I want a man" — 
Jones leaped straight for the window and was through 

it like a flash, 
And Jackson down the elevator made a splendid dash, 
And passersby who saw the pair go speeding up the 

street 
Declared that as a sprinting match it never could be 

beat; 
Smith, too, of his agility gave most conclusive proof 
By springing on the fire-escape and climbing to the roof, 
And Robinson, he couldn't tell just how he got away, 
But they dragged him from the cellar somewhat later 

in the day; 
While the lady, she whose entrance had such wild com- 
motion made, 



POEMS AND PICTURES 65 

Turned to the grinning office boy, the only one who 

stayed, 
And said as if in these events she noticed nothing 

strange, 
"I want a man to come around and fix my kitchen 

range." 

A SCHEME THAT FAILED 

Old Brown, who lives across the way, 

Has in his stable stowed 
A perfect dandy of a sleigh 

That never sees the road. 

And Smith, who lives next door but two, 

Is owner of a mare 
He doesn't use the whole year through 

Save on occasions rare. 

And I have just the nicest girl 

A man could sit beside, 
Whose pretty head is all awhirl 

With longings for a ride. 

And so before the pair I laid 

A proposition fine 
To pool the sleigh, the mare, the maid 

Into one grand combine. 

And as the portion which I brought 
Was worth far more than theirs, 

It was .entirely right, I thought, 
For me to run affairs. 

But they — they laughed my scheme to scorn 
And mocked me to my face, 

So sleigh and mare and maid forlorn 
Each keeps a separate place. 



66 POEMS AND PICTURES 

AT THE DOOR 

They said good-night, but lingered still 

On either side the narrow sill; 
He clasped her hands across the space, 
She strove to hide her happy face, 

Where love looked forth despite her skill. 

The clock rang out its warning shrill, 
They started with a guilty thrill, 
And once again (O cruel case!) 
They said good-night. 

Yet they their cup of bliss would fill, 

The moon retired in kindly will, 
And as the shadows veiled the place, 
He drew her close in his embrace 

And in a mode where words are nil 
They said good-night. 

MOONLIGHT ON THE CHESAPEAKE 

Swift o'er the surface of the bay we glide, 
Whereon the Night has spread her dusky veil, 
And lo ! the moon, new risen now, and pale, 

Throws her reflection on the gloomy tide : 

A silver path, across the waters wide, 
That leads unbroken to our vessel's rail, 
Save when the silhouette of a passing sail 

A moment in the glory may abide. 

O perfect hour ! won from life's toil and stress ; 
Would that we might its fleeting passage stay, 

And soothed by breezy Summer's soft caress, 
Here, side by side, forever drift away 

O'er endless seas of moonlit loveliness, 
Far from the wearing strife of garish day. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 69 

SIGNS OF SUMMER 

When days wax longer as they pass 

And airs more torrid blow, 
When to the greenwood lad and lass 

In merry parties go; 

When each suburbanite you meet 

Prates of his garden patch, 
When anglers brother anglers greet 

With yarns about the catch; 

When loud from every plot of green 

The lawn-mower sounds afar, 
When on each vacant lot is seen 

The future baseball star; 

When city street and country lane 

Anew with sunlight throb, 
We know that Summer's come again 

And Old Sol's on the job. 



THE ABSORBING TOPIC 

With anxious look and eager eye 

He scanned the printed page, 
As if some matter great and high 

Did all his thought engage. 
He moved impatient in his seat 

And turned the leaves once more, 
Then cried, enraged, "Confound this sheet, 

Where have they put the score?" 



70 POEMS AND PICTURES 

ALONG THE SHORE 

Here at the ocean's verge I stand, 

Where foam lines break on the sloping sand, 

And salt airs gladden the weary land 

With a steady breeze and strong; 
Out on the boundless blue expanse 
Swiftly the homing ships advance, 
White their sails in the sunlight glance, 

Smoothly they glide along. 

Pleasant, methinks, such life must be 

Thus to fare on the shining sea, 

Over the waves when winds blow free 

To sweep on tireless wings ; 
But, ah! when I gaze along the beach 
At wreckage marking the breakers* reach, 
And read the lesson its fragments teach, 

A different thought upsprings. 

Here lie timbers of goodly ships 
That went forth upon hopeful trips, 
Sailing out from their harbor slips 

Freighted with words of cheer; 
Sailing fair till the storm-fiend's scourge 
Beat them under the heaving surge ; 
Wind and wave are moaning a dirge 

Over their unknown bier. 

Never of them shall we tidings learn, 
Never a message for hearts that yearn, 
Never will they to the port return 
Where weary watchers wait. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 

A broken spar, or a battered boat, 
Mast or plank that was left afloat, 
Left to drift to these shores remote, 
Leaves us to guess their fate. 

A LAST APPEAL 

O hear me, cruel-hearted thief, 

This is my last appeal to you, 
Here read the cause of all my grief 

And see the mischief that you do. 

You took from me my tender heart, 
Though you it could no profit bring, 

Now mine is but an idle part, 
I have no heart for anything. 

You robbed me of my healthful sleep, 
To me the night no more brings rest; 

Your haunting graces round me sweep 
Whene'er my troubled pillow's pressed. 

You stole my appetite away, 

Alas ! I can no longer eat ; 
The dining-hours that sweetened day 

Have lost the charm that made them sweet. 

Give back, give back all these again, 

And you I will forever bless; 
For me to live with none were vain, 

While you can surely live with less. 

Or if a part you wish to keep, 
I yield perforce unto your might; 

So hold you then my heart and sleep, 
But please return my appetite! 



J2 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A PAGE 0,F BASEBALL LIMERICKS 

RUNNING YET 

The score it was twenty to three, 
And a spectator cried "Hully Gee !" 
As man after man 
O'er the plate gaily ran, 
"Is it ball or foot-racing I see?" 

NO WINGS 

A chap who was playing at third, 
To grab a high throw never stirred ; 
When the captain yelled "Why, 
You big chump, don't you try?" 
He said, "Do you think I'm a bird?" 

BETTER UPSIDE DOWN 

A bow-legged stortstop called Ed, 
Once missed a hot grounder and said, 
As he saw with what ease 
It could pass through his knees, 
"I see I should stand on my head." 

TOO MUCH WIND-UP 

A pitcher who had a great ball, 

Prepared to give batters a fall ; 

When he found to his fright 

He was wound up so tight 

That he couldn't project it at all. 

NOT SPEED ENOUGH 

Said the coach, a sarcastic-tongued soul, 
To a youngster who failed of his goal, 

"Remember this, son, 

When the bases you run, 
You're not taking an afternoon stroll." 



POEMS AND PICTURES 73 

A PAGE OF BASEBALL LIMERICKS 

A MONOTONOUS JOB 

A fan who to keep score essayed, 

In a game where no hits had been made, 

Said, "This job is so fraught 

With the making of naught 
That a rubber stamp would be an aid." 

AN UNKIND CUT 

Said one who loved dollars and cents, 
"These ball games are too much expense ; 

I shall let them go by" — 

Cried a waggish friend, "Why, 
Have they nailed up the hole in the fence?" 

HOW NICE 

Said the right field, "This thing's wrongly planned, 
They should grow daisies here close at hand, 

Then Fd lighten the hours 

By gathering flowers 
To give to the girls in the stand." 

A TOUGH POSITION 

A player at second called Rob, 

Had a base runner light on his knob ; 

Said he, feeling the sore, 

When the mixup was o'er, 
"This sure is a strenuous job." 

A SARCASTIC ROOTER 

A girl new to baseball affairs, 

Saw the men, yelling, stand on their chairs ; 

"Are you rooting?" she said 

To one wild-eyed and red, 
And he shrieked, "No, I'm saying my prayers." 



J4 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A RETROSPECT 

How many times, dear heart, have we 

Together roamed beside the sea 
When life was young, and skies were blue, 
And all the world was fair and new, 

And it was rapture just to be! 

And we have traced o'er dale and lea 
The paths that led to Arcady, 
And lingered there the long hours through, 
How many times ? 

And though our ways, by "fate's decree," 
Since then have severed been and free, 
I still have kept your memory true 
Through all these changing years, while you, 
Ah, sad coquette, have thought of me — 
How many times ? 

SKY LAND 

World of rare beauty ! old yet ever new, 
Whose cloud-built scenes my fancy oft beguiles, 
Alike though Winter storms or Summer smiles ; 

Earth's varied forms you show in softer hue, 

Plains, valleys, mountains, in your depths I view; 
Sometimes an ocean set with fleecy isles, 
Or placid lake, girt 'round about for miles 

With snowy peaks upheaved against the blue. 

Here I a rugged cape can plainly trace, 
And there the curving beach line of a bay; 

Awhile these hold their unsubstantial grace, 
Then are dissolved and pass like mist away, 

And newer shapes drift slowly into place, 
Frail counterfeits as fair and brief as they. 




First Leaves — Spring, near Mt. Winans 



M^^& ; 1^^: 




Old Rail Fence — Near Emory Grove 



POEMS AND PICTURES 77 

BALLADE OF THE INFALLIBLE PROPHET 

I shirk no trials a man may meet 

While journeying on this mortal sphere, 
I can eat my grapes, though sour or sweet, 

And take my chances without a fear; 

I dread not poverty's presence drear, 
I'll face misfortune's cruellest blow; 

But I shrink and cower when comes anear 
The infallible prophet, I-told-you-so. 

I can bow to the fate that brings defeat, 

And smile at the world's unfeeling jeer, 
But Satan's self I would rather greet 

Than list to this bore with his half-hid sneer ; 

Than have him prate in my tortured ear 
The wordy reasons I sadly know, 

That tear my wounds like a jagged spear, 
The infallible prophet, I-told-you-so. 

I can bear the shock to my poor conceit 
When I see my brave schemes disappear, 

But I long to flee to a safe retreat 
Whenever his rasping voice I hear : 
How he had known it for half a year, 

He felt it would happen long ago ; 

It was all foreseen by this mighty seer, 

The infallible prophet, I-told-you-so. 

Envoy 

Death, grim slayer, have you no cheer? 

Take your weapon and lay him low — 
Give me to read on his tombstone clear : 

"The infallible prophet, I-told-you-so." 



y8 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE CALL OF MARYLAND 

Old Home Week, Baltimore, October 13-19, 1907 

wandering sons ! children dear ! 

Where'er today you roam, 
For you we spread the festal cheer 

And deck your natal home ; 
For you a queenly mother waits 

In stately joy and pride 
Within her fairest city's gates, 

Where doors are opened wide. 

Come home — forget awhile your care, 

Put by your wasting toil ; 
Come, breathe your old State's genial air 

And tread her kindly soil; 
Retrace the scenes of life's young day, 

Clasp friendly hands once more, 
And Love will smooth the years away 

And vanished youth restore. 

Come home — though far you build anew 

Or other ties you form, 
Your old State's skies are still as blue, 

Our hearts are just as warm; 
Still on her swelling hills the sun 

Sends down his brightest ray, 
And still her sparkling rivers run 

Rejoicing to the Bay. 

Come home — our bannered streets are bright, 

Our standards proudly fly, 
And "Welcome" gleams from flag and light, 

And beams in every eye; 



POEMS AND PICTURES yg 

And kindred and old comrades will 

With pleasant greetings come, 
While pleasure all the hours shall fill — 

Come home, dear hearts, come home. 



THE "OTHER WAY" 

Each morning as to work I go, 

A maiden fair I meet, 
The dearest, sweetest girl, I know, 

That treads the busy street; 
She comes and goes so sweet and shy, 

Watch her I could all day, 
But ah ! she quickly passes by — 

She goes the other way. 

I note her coming with delight, 

And often wish that she 
Would read my tender looks aright 

And kindly smile on me; 
But scarce I gaze upon her face 

And mark the blushes play, 
Ere tripping by with dainty pace 

She goes the other way. 

Thus Fortune, too, the gay coquette, 

Will ever me torment ; 
For years I've tried my steps to set 

The way that hers are bent; 
But she will my endeavors cheat, 

Strive howsoe'er I may, 
And always when we chance to meet 

She goes the other way. 



80 POEMS AND PICTURES 

CHANT ROYAL OF THE FIVE SENSES 

When to our gaze earth's beauty is laid bare 
In pine crowned height or cultivated plain, 

In forest dim, or meadow broad and fair, 
Where some slow stream meanders to the main; 

Whether in Spring's bright verdure newly dressed, 

Or wearing Summer's glories on her breast ; 
Flushed with the wealth of Autumn opulent, 
Or ruled by Winter, stern, omnipotent — 

What time or season holds the scenes divine, 
Let us repeat with voices reverent, 

"We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine !" 

When Music lures us to her subtle snare 
With the dear burden of some old refrain, 

To which we harken, lost to time and care, 

And hearing naught save that enchanting strain, 

Till charmed we stand, her witching power confessed, 

And smile or weep at her supreme behest; 
Or when we list to speaker eloquent, 
Whose glowing language holds us rapt, intent, 

While to his cause our kindred hopes incline, 
Then let us thus to our delight give vent, 

"We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine !" 

When lavish Summer scatters on the air 
The gathered odors of her golden reign, 

On every breeze bestows an ample share 

So rich the fragrance that her blooms contain; 

While we, with hearts by love of Nature blest, 

Inhale her sweets with never failing zest; 
Or when her fields of rain are redolent, 
And every leaf with diamond drops besprent, 

And her blown breath is like a rare old wine, 



POEMS AND PICTURES Si 

Then be our voices in glad chorus blent, 
"We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine !" 

When we have known the sick-room's scanty fare, 

And weary weeks on Fever's couch have lain, 
And kindly hands a tempting dish prepare 

To call the wasted vigor back again; 
Or bring rare fruits, whose glowing hues suggest 
Some orchard old or vineyard sun-caressed, 

And to our lips the pleasant cure present, 

And we enjoy its substance succulent, 
While life anew thrills in our limbs supine, 

Then must we cry from out our deep content, 
"We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine !" 

When in our homes Death enters unaware 

And bears some loved one to his dark domain, 
And we arise from our first blind despair 

To greet the friends who strive to ease our pain, 
And learn how much unto the soul distressed 
May by a simple hand-clasp be expressed; 

When words are vain to fitly represent 

The tenderness in loving bosoms pent, 
How mute caress may speak the feeling fine, 

Then let us say, with heads submissive bent, 
"We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine!" 

Envoy 
Friends, here is shown the body's complement, 
These senses five, no more could we invent ; 

Then, thus endowed, shall we at life repine? 
Nay, let us murmur, grateful, penitent, 

"We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine!" 

A Chant Royal is a sort of enlarged Ballade, in that it has a fixed length and 
definite laws for rhyming. There are very few in the English Language. 



82 POEMS AND PICTURES 

FOR A WEDDING 
When you are one, courageous twain, 
May Love within your household reign, 
May Gladness be your constant guest, 
May Peace, sweet dove, build there her nest, 
And with her quiet brood remain. 

And should you strive for worldly gain, 
May Fortune, "fickle goddess," deign 
To aid you in each honest quest, 
When you are one ! 

And as your days begin to wane, 

May you your early faith retain, 
And gently, calmly, sink to rest, 
With thoughts of rounded duty blest, 

Thus proving marriage is no bane 
When you are one ! 

A SUMMER STORM 

"Rain!" cried the tree, the first to catch the word 

The herald wind brought o'er the dusty plain; 

"Rain ! rain !" leaf after leaf took up the strain 
Till every drooping blade and blossom heard, 
And e'en the wasted brook was faintly stirred ; 

Then, crash ! the gathered clouds were split in twain, 

And down it poured, great sheets of driving rain, 
And all the landscape misty grew and blurred. 
Deep drank the thirsty earth so long denied; 

The blossoms bowed beneath it, and the tree, 
Feeling the gusty current smite its side, 

Tossed its glad arms and rocked in ecstasy; 
The brook became a torrent swift and wide 

And roared across the meadow, mad with glee. 




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POEMS AND PICTURES 8j 

VOYAGING 

Within my chamber window streams 
The full round moon's refulgent beams, 
And, roused, I quit my couch and stand 
At gaze on an enchanted land. 

Outspread before my mazed eyes 
The sleeping town transfigured lies 
Beneath an ocean white and still 
That reaches to my casement sill. 

A waveless flood that covers all, 
Save where some spire, or chimney tall, 
That turns to me its shadowed side, 
Yet shows above the shining tide. 

So fair it lies, this mystic sea, 

I fain a-voyaging would be, 

And straightway Fancy frames a boat 

And out upon the deep I float. 

As in a dream I drift away 
Where fragrant breezes softly play, 
And radiant summer ever smiles 
Around a hundred fairy isles. 

Or 'neath some beetling cliff I sail, 
Whereon a streamlet spreads a veil, 
And push my shallop to the land 
And roam its silver-gleaming strand. 

Through these and other scenes I pass 
Till Fancy turns her magic glass, 
And lo ! the east is pale with dawn 
And all the moonlit glow is gone. 



86 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A HUSTLER'S WISH 
I am a hustler; all my life 

It seems has been a chase, 
I entered early in the strife, 

And kept a foremost place. 

I rushed so hard from youth to prime, 
I sometimes have my fears 

That I have run ahead of time 
By half a score of years. 

And now that I've won Fortune's smile 
I'd like to stop the wheels, 

To quit the struggle for awhile 
And see how loafing feels. 

I'd like to seek some grassy plot, 

Such as the poets laud, 
And on the softest, greenest spot 

Just spread myself abroad. 

And there, all care forgotten, lie 
With gently heaving breast 

And gaze up at the quiet sky 
And rest, and rest, and rest. 

A COMMON COMPLAINT 

*'0 doctor," moans the worried wife, 

"My husband's in some awful trouble ; 
His sleep with horrid dreams is rife, 

He talks of hit and steal and double." 
"Nay," said the doctor, "be at ease, 

Attacks like this should not affright us, 
'Tis but a mild form of disease 

And widely known as baseballitus." 



POEMS AND PICTURES 87 

RESOLUTION 

He called her fickle, heartless, cold, 

And wished that he had never met her; 

Declared his love's knell had been tolled, 
And said he lived but to forget her. 

He gave her back each scented note, 
From every pledge made haste to free her; 

Then went away to scenes remote, 

And vowed he nevermore would see her. 

But when she wrote in sore distress, 

"Please, Jack, return, my heart's dear master," 

He went home by the fast express, 
And swore because it wasn't faster. 

THE FOUNTAIN 

From out the center of a lake 
I saw a shining column spring, 
Straight as an arrow from the string, 

And in a thousand jewels break. 

I marked the stream's incessant flow, 
Now upward borne, a thing elate, 
Now crushed again beneath the weight 

Of its own water, sinking low. 

O fountain with the jeweled crown! 

O type of this our mortal life ! 

Such is the soul's unceasing strife 
Against the flesh which drags it down. 

Harlem Park, Baltimore 



88 POEMS AND PICTURES 

CHRISTMAS CHANGES 

"It is the gracious Christmas time, 
The fireplace glows with cheery light, 

And on the windows, white with rime, 
A thousand jewels sparkle bright. 

"The tree within the corner stands, 

Its boughs with glittering baubles strung, 

Where Santa Claus with generous hands 
Last night his welcome presents hung. 

"Without the earth is wrapped in snow 
And sleigh-bells jingle far and near, 

And sounds of gladness come and go 
Upon the frosty atmosphere." 

Thus sang the bard of former days, 
Or might have sung if so he willed, 

But I, who scribble modern lays, 
Am not by such bright visions thrilled. 

No glowing fireplace, deep and wide, 
Have I to set my thoughts astir; 

I keep my Christmas cheer beside 
A cold, prosaic register. 

The corner holds no laden tree 
That I in rhyme might celebrate, 

Because, the scientists agree, 
Our forests thus we devastate. 

And Santa Claus, the jolly elf, 

Who used to come with reindeer team, 

Is relegated to the shelf 

And out of date as poet's theme. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 89 

And so I cannot find a point 

Whereon to hang a Christmas verse — 

Ah me! the times are out of joint 
And poet's woes grow daily worse. 



IN ANSWER 

Old Friend : You ask me if it pays, 
This using quires of paper 

And lots of ink in writing lays 
Beside the "midnight taper." 

Well, that depends, if "paying" means 

A certain money profit, 
I fear your correspondent gleans 

But very little of it. 

But though the work no money earns 

To keep his pot a-boiling, 
He still maintains it yields returns 

That justify the toiling. 

If he can keep through life's dull way 
Some thought of fields and flowers 

To cheer his labors day by day, 
Tis worth the "wasted" hours. 

And while some cry the road is hard, 
And o'er their lot sit sighing, 

He dons the mantle of the bard 
And takes to versifying. 



go POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE NEW YEAR'S PROMISE 

When last the bells at midnight rung 
To usher in the new-born year, 

We gathered where light mirth upsprung 
And kept the hour with song and cheer. 

No sorrow for the year agone, 
No vain regret our pleasure marred; 

We only saw the golden dawn, 
The glowing future promise starred. 

And yet a brief twelvemonth before 
The same old year with joy we hailed, 

Assured its days all blessings bore 

For which we'd striven long — and failed. 

And well our baffled purpose knew 
How much its close found still undone, 

The tasks accomplished — Ah, how few ! 
How slight the victory we had won ! 

But flowery hope that ever springs 

Above the ruins of defeat 
Put forth its fairest blossomings 

And served our blinded sense to cheat. 

So that once more with greetings fair 
We welcomed in the year's advent, 

As now we greet Time's latest heir, 
And ever will till life be spent. 

For though our good intent may fail, 
And wished-for triumph end in pain, 

Still must we each glad season hail 
That wakens brave resolve again. 




Washington Monument, Mt. Vernon Place 




Key Monument, Eutaw Place 



POEMS AND PICTURES 93 

PIONEERS 

The street is full of drifted snow, 
The walk has vanished and a row 
Of trampled footprints to and fro 

Its place betrays; 
And here the people come and go 

Their busy ways. 

Along in narrow track they tread, 
Each follows up the one ahead, 
Unbroken snow about them spread 

On either side; 
The living stream in that worn bed 

Will ever bide. 

Thus day by day our course we take, 
Content to follow in the wake 
Of those before, nor effort make 

At methods new ; 
The common way we ne'er forsake 

Our journey through. 

Not thus the men whose deeds sublime 

Illume the chronicle of Time, 

Who left their names in every clime 

Our heritage, 
And live in deathless prose and rhyme 

From age to age. 

Not thus the men who brought the light 
When all the world was sunk in night, 
Who waged for Truth a valiant fight 

Through sneer and frown, 
And won in spite of Error's might 

The victor's crown. 



g4 POEMS AND PICTURES 

These followed not the beaten route 
But firm in faith, of courage stout, 
And free from fear and halting doubt, 

New pathways traced, 
And from the track struck boldly out 

Into the waste. 

AFTER THE FIRE 
A Prophecy of Greater Baltimore 

The fire had passed; above the scene 

The genius of the city bent 
In bitter woe, like some sad queen 

Dethroned and doomed to banishment; 
And as she mourned she felt the spell 

Of a superior presence near, 
While gracious words of comfort fell 

Like music on her raptured ear. 

"My daughter, cease your futile sighs, 
This fire shall prove your lasting gain; 

These ruined piles anew shall rise 

In beauty dear as sunny skies 
That follow gloomy days of rain. 

"Here, with prophetic sense, I see 
A fairer, vaster realm than this; 

A people from old bonds set free 

Shall make a city that will be 
The Southland's real metropolis. 

"These streets again with trade shall fill 

In volume never known of yore ; 
Here loom and press and forge and mill 
Shall pile the products of their skill, 
And wealth her garnered treasure pour. 



POEMS AND PICTURES <pj 

"To these broad wharves shall commerce come 

As come the countless birds in spring, 
To straining sail and engine's hum 
All lands and climes to swell the sum 
Shall each abundant tribute bring. 

"Here, too, in widening stream shall flow 
Rich freights for other havens meant; 

From mine, from field, the flood shall grow 

Till from this port shall outward go 
The spoil of half a continent. 

"Here art shall rear memorials fair, 

Still to her old ideals true, 
And pilgrim throngs shall here repair, 
While blooming park and statued square 

The love of beauty shall renew. 

"Here learning, too, shall have her seat 
And call her youth from far and near 

To gather wisdom at her feet 

And draw an inspiration sweet 

From the brave record of this year." 

The voice at last in music died, 

And rising up with radiant mien, 
The goddess stood in joy and pride 

Once more in very truth a queen ; 
And passed unto a place apart 

To wait in happy certainty 
The while the people of her heart 

Wrought out the glorious prophecy. 

The Great Fire occurred February 7-8, 1904. The above wa9 written on the 
first anniversary of the event. 



96 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE OLD SCHOOLHOUSE 

Aye, still it stands, the schoolhouse old, 

Beneath its leafy screen, 
Though many years have o'er it rolled 

Since last I left the scene. 

What change is here ! Storms and decay 
Have sadly marred the place, 

And tangled vines have hid the way 
My feet were wont to pace. 

I pass within the creaking door, 

By lock no longer bound, 
And tread again the dusty floor, 

And wake the echoes round. 

And long I gaze, as in a dream, 
On the old room's remains, 

In the fading bars of light that stream 
Through broken window panes. 

These dim old walls have held me oft 
In boyhoods's careless day; 

At Wisdom's riches then I scoffed, 
And thought of naught but play. 

Ah ! Memory flies on rapid wing 
Back to that vanished time; 

Again I hear the schoolbell ring 
Its old familiar chime. 

And every schoolmate boyhood knew 
Troops in and takes his place, 

And at his desk the master, too, 
Presents his dreaded face. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 97 

And busy tongues I hear, that strive 

In conning lessons o'er; 
Like hum of bees within a hive, 

Or water's far-off roar. 

Then the master's well-used cane is heard, 

As he raps with angry will, 
And thunders, "Quiet." At the word, 

The noisy hum is still. 

It was but fancy, none are here ; 

They all long since have flown ; 
And I within the schoolroom drear 

In silence stand, alone. 

And where are they, my boyish friends? 

Where lie their paths today? 
What shape of fortune now attends 

Them on stern manhood's way? 

O'er death's dark river some have crossed, 

Their journey early done; 
In life's great battle some have lost, 

And some have bravely won. 

The sun sinks low behind the hills, 

The schoolroom darker grows, 
And far away the whippoorwills 

Proclaim the daylight's close. 

And, sad at heart, I turn away 

And shut the creaking door; 
Then gloom and silence hold their sway 

About the place once more. 

Pine Grove, near Ridgeville, Frederick Co., Md. 



q8 poems and pictures 

AT THE FOOT OF PARNASSUS 

"Still at the foot," I sigh, and gaze 

Across the intervening haze 

Where fair Parnassus lifts its head 
To heights I know I ne'er shall tread, 

Though I desire it all my days. 

I see the shining temples blaze, 

I hear the sound of noble lays, 

As I the weary mazes thread, 

Still at the foot. 

There, with the masters, glory stays ; 

To them the world its homage pays ; 
And long I've sought the paths that led 
Their steps aright ; but sore bestead, 

I wander these neglected ways, 

Still at the foot. 




.■,.:-, 



VERSES FROM 
THE CHILDREN'S PAGE 



The verses in this section have nearly all appeared 
in the columns of a "Children's Page' 1 issued by 
The International Syndicate of this city. They 
are reproduced here with the kind permission of that 
company. 




Verses From the Children's Page 



OUT OF DATE 

The little tin horn and the bright red drum 

On the toy-store shelf looked blank and glum, 

For the Christmas shoppers came and went, 

Each one on a chosen gift intent, 

And all of them readily gave their pelf 

For the brand-new things on the lower shelf, 

But nobody wanted for any sum 

The little tin horn and the bright red drum. 

The little tin horn and the bright red drum 
Watched all day long o'er the crush and hum 
Of the struggling crowds, and saw depart 
The latest toys of the makers' art, 
And heard the children clamoring, too, 
For the trains that ran and the ships that flew, 
And shrank in their corner abashed and dumb — 
The little tin horn and the bright red drum. 

The little tin horn and the bright red drum 
As the days passed by grew yet more glum, 
For the New Child sneeringly called them "slow," 
And the Modern Boy craved "things that go," 



102 POEMS AND PICTURES 

So still untouched by a buyer's hand 

On the toy-store's high back shelf they stand 

And wait for the calls that never come 

For the little tin horn and the bright red drum. 

THE ROCK-A-BYE TRAIN 

Oh, who is for taking the Rock-a-bye train 

That runs through to Dreamville by Slumberland 

plain ? 
It starts every night, when the sun has gone down, 
From the shadowy portals of Sleepyhead town; 
The riding is easy, the coach superfine, 
For faithful old Sandman has charge of the line, 
And there's no noisy rattle — it's really a boon — 
You travel along to a low pleasant croon ; 
And the fare is a trifle you hardly would miss, 
It's only the giving of one good-night kiss — 
What ? Baby is going ? Ho, Sandman, remain ! 
I've a passenger here for the Rock-a-bye train. 

THE BOSS' TURN 

"No, save your breath," the master said, 

Unto the lad about to speak, 
"I know you've got an aching head 

And that you're feeling awful weak; 
But here I fear you'll have to stay 

So lay your illness on the shelf, 
A double header's on today 

And I'll be sick, I think, myself." 



POEMS AND PICTURES 103 

THE WINTER WALK 

Some people say that Summer is the only time to walk 
Or be outdoors, but Pop and me we don't believe that 

talk; 
Why we go out the coldest days and tramp an hour or 

two, 
And we see lots and lots of things that stay-homes 

never do. 

And if the birds are gone away and all the flowers are 

dead. 
The woods are full of evergreens and berries bright 

and red, 
And crows are flying 'round the fields and calling far 

and loud, 
Or gathering in the tree-tops like a big convention 

crowd. 

And rabbits run across the road and scamper off so shy, 
Or maybe squirrels, on some high limb, peep at you 

quick and sly; 
And when the wind blows 'round the hill the leaves fly 

everywhere, 
Or whirl off like a flock of birds upon the frosty air. 

And if when we're a-walking out it should begin to 

snow, 
We button up and hike along till we are all aglow, 
And when we get back home again we look so fresh 

and strong, 
That folks say, "My, but you look fine, I wish I'd went 

along." 



104 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE FAITHLESS KNIGHT 
With tearful face against the pane 

She waits, the most forlorn of mortals ; 
No gallant knight, no fearless swain, 

Appears to dare her prison portals. 

She hears her father's sentence stern, 
(And oh, the dread his accents carry!) 

"Till you obedience shall learn 

Within your chamber you must tarry." 

And where is he, her champion brave, 

Whose arm she thought would never fail her ? 

Why comes he not his love to save, 
Or plead for pardon with her jailer? 

Alas ! the fickle, faithless churl, 

(To think a lover thus should flout her!) 

Is playing with "that other girl" 
And doesn't care a thing about her. 

A PRACTICAL YOUNG LADY 

There once was a child of our Grandmother Eve 
Who never was willing to play make-believe ; 
When a game was suggested this practical miss 
Was full of objections to that and to this; 
If told that a chair was a fast motor car 
In which she must speed on a journey afar, 
She would straightway declare that it couldn't be so ; 
"It's a chair," she would say, "not a car, as you know." 
"But imagine its one," they would plead in despair — 
It was all to no purpose, a chair was a chair, 
And her obstinate humor would break up the play — 
It's a terrible thing to be born that-a-way ! 



POEMS AND PICTURES 105 

THE MARCH WIND'S MISSION 

Hear ! Hear ! 
I have been sent to drive out Winter drear, 

Sweep his ranks clear, 

Smite front and rear, 
Break down his ice forts and shiver each spear, 

Till he appear 

Humble with fear, 
Ready to yield to the queen drawing near ! 

Boom ! Boom ! 
Hark to my guns that are sounding his doom ! 

Should he presume 

To deny us our room 
Swift will I scatter his legions of gloom ; 

And though he fume, 

Low shall his plume 
Bow to the forces of sunlight and bloom ! 

Whoo! Whoo! 
Violets, daisies, I'm bringing to you ; 

Buttercups, too, 

Golden of hue, 
Scattered like star-dust and gleaming with dew ; 

Skies soft and blue, 

Fields robed anew, 
These will be yours when my mission is through ! 

EXPLAINING HIS FAILURE 
No, sir; it's not that I am dumb 

When I miss lessons every day; 
It's 'cause I know so awful much 

I don't know what is best to say. 



106 POEMS AND PICTURES 

DOIN' 'RITHMETIC 

When Brother's doin' 'rithmetic 

It's awful 'round our house, 
I have to take my book and keep 

As quiet as a mouse. 

And if his sums are hard to do, 

He makes a dreadful fuss ; 
He kicks his feet and pulls his hair, 

And gets things in a muss. 

And Mamma scolds like anything 

At him for gettin' mad, 
And Sister tries to help — Tell you 

When he is done we're glad. 

'Deed I am made behave so good, 

I'd just as lief be sick 
As be around where Brother is 

When he does 'rithmetic. 

PLAYING INDIANS 

Indians on the warpath, better not go out; 
Stealthy-footed warriors prowling all about. 

After brave scout Harry ; get him, too, I guess — 
My ! don't they look savage in their fighting dress ? 

Captured sister's dolly, shot the Teddy bear; 
Gracious ; how they're yelling, almost raise your hair. 

Must have found poor Harry — what a dreadful fate ; 
There he goes a captive through the garden gate. 

Doomed to cruel torture and to taunting shout — 
Indians on the warpath, better not go out. 




G 

Oh 
O 



POEMS AND PICTURES iog 

THE NEGLECTED BOY 

There's a boy lives on our corner 

'At I watch mos' every day, 
In the street or yard or somers, 

Alius at some kind o' play. 

Muvver says 'at he's neglected, 

An' finks it an awful shame, 
But he never seems to mind it, 

For he plays on jus' the same. 

He makes dams across the gutter, 
On the curbstone plays at shop; 

Rolls his ball along the pavement, 
Flies his kite an' spins his top. 

He is alius out a-playin' 

An' so happy doin' it, 
'At I sometimes wish my muvver 

Would neglect me jus' a bit. 

THE BROOMSTICK HORSE 

Mercy! Somebody stop him, pray! 
The broomstick horse is running away ; 
He's plunging and tearing around the lawn, 
I marvel his master can still hold on. 

Here they come at a frantic pace, 
The rider's curls blown back from his face; 
Hat, too, gone and his clothes awry, 
But a desperate courage is in his eye. 

Ha ! he has conquered ; he draws the rein, 
Broomstick horse, you struggle in vain ; 
Prance as you will and try to go, 
Your master can manage you. Whoa, there, whoa ! 



no POEMS AND PICTURES 

GOING TO THE COUNTRY 

We're a-goin' to the country where the trees an' flowers 

grow, 
Papa said 'at he would take us an' he'll do it, too, I 

know ; 
We will get aboard the trolley an' go whirlin' far away 
To the woods so green an' shady an' the fields where I 

can play. 

For nobody owns the country, or at least they doesn't 
care, 

An' you go just where you want to, on the grass or any- 
where ; 

An' they let you pull the flowers an' chase after butter- 
flies, 

An' its all so big an' open — nothin' but the fields and 
skies. 

An' we'll take a lunch-box with us an' we'll set down 

by a spring, 
An' the way we'll eat sandwiches — bet we never leave 

a thing, 
An' we'll just lay 'round an' joy it; hear the birds and 

watch the bees — 
My, but I'm glad we're goin' — I can almost smell the 

breeze ! 

FIRST ONE IN 

See the happy youngsters, racing through the wood, 
For the old loved water, where the swimming's good. 
Now they're at the pool side, and with shout and jest, 
Each strives in undressing to outdo the rest. 
Now white limbs a moment in the sunlight gleam, 
As a lithe young body cleaves the glassy stream. 
Then a head emerges, and above the din 
Rings the cry of triumph, "I'm the first one in!" 



POEMS AND PICTURES in 

A BUSY LITTLE MAN 

Again he comes, on eager feet, 

His wagon at his heels ; 
He pauses at my window seat 

And for my trade appeals. 

"What will you have?" I hear him ask 

In brisk, storekeeper voice; 
And I must lay aside my task 

And gravely make my choice. 

And he, as I each package name, 

As gravely hands it out ; 
Then, with my note in pay for same, 

He hurries on his route. 

For cash, it seems, he little cares — 

He knows my word is good ; 
And so I question not his wares 

As strict housekeepers should. 

I fear the coffee that I buy 

Is pebbles, picked with care ; 
I dare not in the sugar pry, 

For only sand is there. 

My beefsteak is a sorry show — 

I think it must be bone; 
And for a loaf of bread I know 

He's wrapped me up a stone. 

But, bless his heart ! I help his play 

In every way I can ; 
And so he labors through the day 

A busy little man. 



ii2 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A DREADFUL SHOCK 

Good gracious ! what a shock is this ! 
I surely must have heard amiss — 
Our daughter, our delight, our bliss, 

A suffragette? 
She who oft hears the words I use 
When reading of them in the News; 
Who knows my most decided views — 

Absurd; and yet, 

When I went forth awhile ago, 
My ballot in the scale to throw, 
I found her at the door below 

With hat and coat. 
I greeted her in manner gay: 
"Good morning, sweetheart, where away?" 
She took my hand, I heard her say, 

"Me want to vote!" 

A FREAK 

What! Don't know baseball? Never play? 

Well, for the love of Mike ! 
Where did you come from, anyway? 

Who ever heard the like? 

Why baseball is a thing, I thought, 

That kids just have to know; 
I can't remember bein' taught, 

It seemed to kinder grow. 

Say, you don't know how much you've missed- 

Baseball's the ONLY game, 
The best, the first one on the list, 

To it the rest are tame. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 113 

YouVe been neglected, I'm afraid ; 

But come along with me, 
I'll show you where the game is played 

The way it ought to be. 

The gang to teach you will be glad, 

If what you say is true. 
Gee whiz! I never thought earth had 

As big a freak as you. 



THE CIRCUS PARADE 

Of all the things there are to see, 

The circus seems the best to me, 

And when it comes to our town 

My Mamma always takes me down 

To where the big parade goes by 

And there we stand and watch it — My 

But it is fine — van after van 

Fixed up with gold, all spick and span, 

And drawn by horses sleek and strong, 

With bands of music move along; 

And they have open cages, too, 

With bars across where you look through 

And see the bears, all rough and brown, 

And tigers pacin' up and down, 

And lions with long yellow hair, 

That look with such a scornful air, 

As if they thought you was too small 

For them to care about at all ; 

And they have clowns a-doin' stunts, 

And lots of wobbly elefunts, 

And men on camels ridin' free, 

And rockin' like ships do at sea, 

And all with flags and banners bright — 

I think it's just the grandest sight. 



ii4 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A HUGE JOKE 

Last Fourth we had fun, I tell you ; I was up by break 

of day 
Out an' scoutin' round for Billy — he's my chum, across 

the way; 
We had made a "giant cracker," not a real one, under- 
stand, 
Just a make-believe of paper for some fun that we had 

planned ; 
We had found an empty mail tube that for size was 

zactly right, 
And we took some dark red paper an' put 'round it 

smooth an' tight ; 
Stuffed the end up, put a fuse in, made of cord, an' when 

'twas done 
You believe me it looked dandy — would a-fooled most 

any one ; 
There was goin' to be some doins on the lawn beside 

the school, 
An' 'fore long the folks all gathered, sittin' 'round there 

nice and cool, 
When we sneaks up with our "giant," lights the fuse 

and yells, "Look out !" 
Soon's they saw it they went runnin' an' a-tumblin' all 

about ; 
Mr. Jones, though, he played hero, jumped on our old 

cracker, Bing! 
Stamped the fuse out, mashed the tube in, just completely 

wrecked the thing ; 
But when he saw how we'd fooled him with a dummy, he 

looked daft, 
An' the whole crowd got around him an' we laughed an' 

laughed an' laughed. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 117 

A DISGUSTED PATRIOT 

Like to know what's wrong with people, 

Way they act gives me a pain, 
With their talk of no more fireworks, 

An' a Fourth that's safe an' sane. 

Won't "permit" us shootin' crackers, 

Nor skyrockets on a stick, 
Roman candles, they're "unlawful" — 

Bah ! their old laws make me sick. 

Let me, mebbe, have a pistol, 

With a little sissy cap, 
'Bout as good as strikin' matches; 

Truck like that aint worth worth a rap. 

Teacher says this is our birthday, 

An' "we should observe the date" ; 
What's the use of talkin' that way 

Then not let us celebrate? 



AT THE END OF HIS ROPE 

"Gee ! I would like to see the game," 

The youngster said, "but what's the use? 
I've worked off sickness, moved, been lame, 

And every other old excuse ; 
If I ask off the boss gets sore; 

He'll turn me down, I know, and flat — 
I'd bury Grandma just once more 

If I thought he would stand for that." 



u8 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE LITTLE GARDENER 

On sturdy legs I see him go 

Across the grass, with rake and hoe, 

To where his patch of garden lies, 

In which with simple faith he tries 

To raise each blessed thing that grows, 

And puts the seed in rows on rows, 

Then in a brief while digs it out 

To see if it's begun to sprout; 

And when a shoot of green appears, 

He waves his hat and gives three cheers, 

And drags in everybody 'round 

To see what's growing in his ground ; 

Then digs again with freshened zeal, 

And gathers dirt from head to heel, 

And like the plants of his own soil 

Grows strong and healthy with the toil. 

THE SWING 

Out on the lawn, by the spreading tree, 

That's where I love to play; 
There in the loop of my flying swing, 

Riding away and away. 

Up, high up, where the boughs branch out, 

Down with a rush again ; 
Back and forth on the track I go, 

Safe in my airy train. 

Many the sights on the trip I see, 
Out through the windows green ; 

Fields all gay with the summer flowers, 
And broad roads in between. 



POEMS AND PICTURES ug 

And though traveling fast or slow 

Over the old swing's space, 
My coach will stop at the journey's end 

Right at the starting place. 

THE BICYCLE 

My wheel, my wheel! My steed of steel, 

Whose speed I often try; 
My eager feet the pedals meet, 

And down the road I fly. 

Away, away! Let skies be gray 

Or bright with glowing sun, 
I have no care as on I fare 

Upon a ten-mile run. 

Afar, afar, where broad fields are, 

Beyond the crowded town; 
I conquer still the steepest hill 

And go a-coasting down. 

More slow, more slow my stout wheels go 

Along the level vale ; 
My run is out, I turn about 

And strike the homeward trail. 



GOOD REASONING 

Papa says that I'm a reg'lar little 'terrogation sign, 
Says I ask so many questions he can hardly read a line. 
Huh ! Fd like to know how papa found out all the rings 

he knows; 
If he hadn't ast folks questions, would he learned 'em, 

do you s'pose? 



120 POEMS AND PICTURES 

NOT A SUCCESS 

Mamma, please look at my dolly, 
Do you fink she'll dry out right? 

Will her cheeks be ever rosy, 
An* her hair get shiny bright? 

What I done? Why I dess washed her 
Like I see cook do for you ; 

She was oh ! so awful dirty, 
An* I fought she would look new. 

So T put her in the washtub 
An' I scrubbed hard as I could, 

Made a lot of soapsuds on her, 
But it didn't do no good. 

For she won't get clean an' whitey 
Like 'fings alius do for cook, 

An' the harder 'at I scrub her 
She will only worser look. 

THE NOBLE FIREMEN 

Clang ! clang ! The firemen's gong I hear, 
Dear me ! it must be somewhere near ; 
Yes, here they come at tearing pace, 
And making for this very place. 

Though not apparent to my gaze, 
It seems our porch is all ablaze, 
And up they dash and fall to work 
The firemen who no duty shirk. 

With pasteboard ax they hack the beams, 
And pour imaginary streams 



POEMS AND PICTURES 121 

On what, according to their fuss, 
Must be a fire most dangerous. 

But see! the leader calls a rest, 
The flames no doubt have been suppressed ; 
They load their wagon to depart, 
Each having played a gallant part. 

Stay ! Mary, cake I pray you bring, 
I think 'twould be the proper thing 
To treat the firemen quick and brave 
Who helped our property to save. 



AN ARTIST 

He begs my pencil, takes my store 

Of paper clean and white, 
Then laid full length upon the floor 

He draws with great delight. 

A very shaky looking square, 
With pointed box outlined, 

Portrays a house and garden fair 
To his artistic mind. 

Two dots within a wobbly ring, 
Five strokes made anyhow, 

And might be called most anything, 
He tells me is a cow. 

An upright stick with knob-like head 
And arms, I name a tree, 

But hear with crushing scorn instead 
That it is meant for me. 



122 POEMS AND PICTURES 

SMOOTHING THE WAY 

I had such a nice time, Mamma, 
At the party where I went; 

All the girls were fixed up lovely, 
But we had an accident. 

We had ice-cream, and we ate it 
Sitting 'round just anywhere, 

And one girl she got up talking 
And put hers down on a chair. 

And the talk got so exciting, 
She forgot her ice-cream quite, 

And first thing she sat down in it — 
My, it made her dress a sight ! 

Do you think they ought to scold her 
'Cause she spoiled her nice new dress? 

She was only little, Mamma, 
Just about my age, I guess. 

No? That's like my precious mamma, 
I was sure you would agree, , 

And I'm glad to hear you say so, 
For that little girl was me. 



A PLEASANT DREAM 

Said Tom, just aroused, with a pout, 

"Now you've spoiled what my dream was about ; 

I thought I was deep 

In a big candy heap 
And had started to eat my way out." 




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POEMS AND PICTURES 12s 

THE SECRET OF THE LEAVES 

The yellow maples told it first as they came spinning 

down 
And stirred up a commotion in a group of chestnuts 

brown ; 
The chestnuts started quickly off, and raced across the 

lawn 
And whispered to a lot of oaks, then scampered gaily on. 
The oaks sprang up and followed in a flutter of delight, 
And all the leafy colony awakened at the sight; 
And hurrying and scurrying they came upon the gale 
And gathered in the corners and commented on the tale. 
It must have set them crazy quite, for every little while 
A crowd would leave the shelter and whirl off in merry 

style, 
And ever as the gust increased the mass would leap and 

bound, 
Or get together in a ring and circle round and round. 
Like folks who can't keep quiet when they hear a jolly 

tune, 
They kept the thing a-going all the windy afternoon, 
And night had fairly come before they had their frolic 

out — 
I'm sorry that I didn't learn what it was all about. 

OH, WHAT'S THE USE 

"I stole three bases," cried the lad, 

Endeavoring to explain 
To his fond mother how he had 

The victory helped to gain. 
"I'm glad you won," his mother said, 

"And proud of you I feel, 
But son" — she sadly shook her head — 

" 'Twas very wrong to steal." 



126 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE FROST ELVES 

When you and I have gone to bed, 
Safe in the land of drowsyhead, 
The tiny frost elves venture out 
And work and frolic all about. 

They ride down on the passing breeze, 
And snip the dead leaves from the trees, 
And flowers by the garden wall 
Just feel their breath and down they fall. 

They seek the stream, and in a trice, 
Have built a bridge of crystal ice, 
And leave it there for our delight 
When Day brings back the morning bright. 

And sometimes they get very bold 
And come and fill the house with cold, 
Through cracks in doors and windows creep, 
And nip our noses where we sleep. 

And sometimes, with a brush of air, 
They fill the panes with etchings rare, 
And all the time they move around 
So quiet you can't hear a sound. 

SKATING WEATHER 

Jolly skating weather, sparkling, clear and cold ; 
Frozen ponds a-plenty for the skaters bold. 
See the happy youngsters ! rosy boy and girl, 
On the ice-bound streamlet in a merry whirl. 
Joyful shouts and laughter ring upon the air; 
No one heeds a tumble, no one has a care. 
Swift young feet are flying, skates flash in the sun, 
Ears and noses tingle, but it's splendid fun. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 127 

SONG OF THE SNOWFLAKES 

We hurry forth 

From the icy north, 
A swift and silent band, 

And ride the blast 

In numbers vast 
When the Storm-King gives command. 

We flutter down 

From the mountain's crown 
And haste o'er the frozen plains, 

And we dance and leap 

To the winds that sweep 
Through the city streets and lanes. 

We bring fresh joys 

To girls and boys 
Who laugh at the winter's chill, 

And we make a bed 

For the flying sled 
Where we rest on the coasting hill. 

We gather force 

And steer our course 
W r here the smoke of traffic trails, 

And curb the speed 

Of the iron steed 
As we cover his gleaming rails. 

From place to place 

We fly apace 
Till we see the wintry sun 

Peer from the sky, 

Like a fiery eye, 
Then we know our race is run. 



128 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE BRAVE YOUNG GENERAL 

The brave young General mounts his steed and holds 

his good sword high, 
A dauntless courage in his breast and victory in his eye ; 
"Men, follow me!" I hear him call, though never my 

eyes behold 
A sign of the troops that should arise at the voice of 

their leader bold. 

And never I get a glimpse of the foes he crushes and 

puts to flight, 
Nor the host of warriors hurt or slain in the course of 

the stubborn fight; 
But the General sees them all, I know, and a conqueror's 

pride he feels 
As he sits on the back of his painted horse, erect on its 

wooden wheels. 

And so he plays at his soldiering and battles throughout 

the day, 
And harries the ranks of his enemies till he drives them 

far away; 
For when you are playing at make believe you never can 

lose, it seems, 
But are ever a triumphing hero brave, as we all are in 

our dreams. 

THE SNOW-MAN AND THE SUN 

The stuck-up Snow-Man glared at the Sun, 

As if he would question why 
His noble shape should be looked upon 

By the Sun with scornful eye. 

And the angry Sun glared back at him, 

And flushed to a deeper red, 
Then smiled at the Snow-Man's foolish whim, 

And passed on his way o'erhead. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 129 

And playfully down on the Snow-Man's face 

The Sun sent his warmest beam, 
Till the helpless Snow-Man raged in his place, 

And the tears began to stream. 

And the Snow-Man cried in his wrath and pain, 

And his form grew frail and thin, 
And he saw that he never would be again 

The man that he once had been. 

And at last when the Sun went down at night, 

At the edge of the distant wood, 
There was only a little mound of white 

To show where the Snow-Man stood. 



MOST TOO REAL 

We was playin' horses jus' the other day, 
An' I was the driver, as we 'greed to play; 

Johnny he was harnessed as the horse, you know, 
An' he cut up balky — didn't want to go. 

An' he kept a-backin' an' a-prancin' round, 
Wouldn't let me drive him, but a way I found, 

For while he was rarin', I picked up a stick 
An' to stop his antics I give him a lick. 

Not a hard one, mind you, jus' a little crack, 

My, the way he hollered, thought I'd broke his back, 

He was all for quittin', cried it wasn't fair — 

I said, "They whip horses when they pitch and rear." 



IJO 



POEMS AND PICTURES 



BLOSSOM TIME 

Blossom time's a-coming, 
Children soon may go 

To the fresh green country 
Where the flowers grow. 

Buttercups and daisies, 
Now low in their beds, 

Over all the meadow 
Then will lift their heads. 

Every sunny morning 

Brings the joy more near; 
Blossom time's a-coming — 

It is almost here. 




BALLADS OF 

THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR 

AND OTHER 

NARRATIVE PIECES 



In these ballads of the Spanish- American War the 
author has attempted to celebrate in verse some of the 
more notable happenings of that stirring time — a period 
that has been strangely neglected by our poets. The 
verses on the Johnstown calamity which conclude the 
book are based on an incident that, although the papers 
were full of it at the time, it is now claimed never hap- 
pened. At the hour the unknown rider was said to have 
dashed through the city, the streets were full of water 
and impassable save by swimming. 



Ballads of the Spanish-American War 

I 

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MAINE 

(Blown up in Havana Harbor, Feb. 15, 1898) 

Up from the night of the Cuban seas 

The cable flashes a terrible tale, 
And the people wake from their dreams of ease 

And turn to the message stern-browed and pale ; 
Black is the tidings that greets their ken, 

Deep are the curses on Spain's head hurled — 
Two hundred, sixty and six good men 

And a brave, stout ship blown out of the world ! 

'Twas not in War's remorseless strife, 

Nay, not in battle was dealt the blow ; 
In a friendly port, in the pride of life, 

They were sent to their doom by an unseen foe ; 
Sent without time for a prayer or cry, 

Sent without ever a warning sign ; 
One moment peace 'neath the evening sky, 

The next Death leaped from the buried mine. 

Disclaim the deed if you will, O Spain, 
And courteous sympathy, too, extend, 

But there in your bay lies our ruined Maine, 
And we can but remember her bitter end. 



ij4 POEMS AND PICTURES 

For it's just like many a cruel act 

That has marked your record from first to last, 
The innocent slaughtered, the prisoner racked, 

And lands laid waste where your foot has passed. 

But now you've a different foe to face ; 

'Twas on no weakling you wrought this wrong; 
You have waked the wrath of a mighty race 

And the cry for vengeance is loud and strong. 
Then gather your ships from the crimson seas, 

Muster your men on the blood-stained land ; 
No more will you torture and slay as you please, 

For the hour of reckoning is at hand. 

II 
THE VOYAGE OF THE "OREGON" 

(March 19 to May 26, 1898. Distance, 13,587 miles) 

Unto Clark on board the Oregon in San Francisco Bay 
Came the order, "Join the squadron at Key West without 

delay," 
And the message, brief, laconic, filled with joy each 

sailor's heart, 
For they knew that war impended and they wished no 

idle part. 
So with eagerness they started from the far Pacific shore 
On their continent-circling voyage, thirteen thousand 

miles and more ; 
Little recked they of the distance, all they cared about 

was speed, 
And their only fear the engines, lest they fail them at 

their need ; 
But they threw the coal in boldly and the ship raced 

down the coast, 
Tearing through the foaming waters like a grey avenging 

ghost ; 
Never slacking, never staying, till the Andes came in 

view, 



POEMS AND PICTURES 133 

When she headed for Callao on the shores of old Peru. 
Then, her bunkers heaped with fuel, out she went to 

sea again, 
And the smoke streamed from her funnels in a cloud 

across the main, 
And the miles fell fast behind her as she sped upon her 

course 
To the throbbing of her engines, driving on with tireless 

force. 
Oft the night the day succeeded, and again the day the 

night, 
As she ploughed the Southern waters in her unremitting 

flight, 
Till she reached the icy regions where the storm-winds 

ever wait, 
And with lessened speed she entered into bleak Magellan 

Strait. 
On between the rocky islands, past the mountains 

crowned with snow, 
Through the narrow, winding channels, steaming cau- 
tiously and slow ; 
Yet advancing, pressing forward to the brightening 

eastern shore, 
Soon she rode the broad Atlantic and went racing on 

once more. 
And the engines answered nobly as the sailors heaved 

the coal, 
Cutting rapidly the distance yet between them and the 

goal, 
And ere long they came to Rio and learned war had been 

declared 
And that Spain was on the ocean, with her ships for 

fight prepared. 
Then forthwith, the bunkers laden, and with every heart 

aglow, 
Out they pushed into the open with a keen eye for the 

foe; 



ij6 POEMS AND PICTURES 

And they steered the brave ship onward up the vast 

reach of Brazil, 
All hands ready for the Spaniard should he try to work 

them ill. 
Day by day she speeded northward, unmolested crossed 

the line, 
Skirted round the outer Indies, steaming on through 

storm and shine, 
Till the green hills of Barbados rose above the swelling 

foam, 
Where she coaled once more and started on the last 

long stretch for home. 
And the faithful engines drove her swiftly toward the 

Spanish isles, 
But no foe came forth to meet her as she ran the lessen- 
ing miles ; 
And without mishap or hindrance she pursued her home- 
ward way, 
And at last attained the waters where the waiting 

squadron lay. 
Then, what shouting ! what rejoicing ! as she raced 

across the tide, 
With her flags and pennants streaming and the white 

spray spurting wide ; 
How they manned the sides and cheered her as she 

swept along the line, 
While the whistles shrieked a welcome and the bands 

played u i\uld Lang Syne." 
And when Spain a little later with her ships our cruisers 

dared, 
In the forefront was the Oregon and in the victory 

shared; 
And Spaniards on that fatal day that saw their fleet 

undone 
Learned that the gallant battleship could fight as well 

as run. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 137 

III 
DEWEY AT MANILA 

(May 1st, 1898) 

From China's shores they steamed away 
To where the Spanish squadron lay 
In strength within Manila Bay 

Beneath Cavite's guns. 
Their orders, "Capture or destroy/' 
They knew would well their strength employ, 
Yet to the work they went with joy, 

Like Freedom's warrior sons. 

They recked not of the foeman's force, 
They scorned the dangers in their course, 
But trusting in their chief's resource, 

They entered in the bay; 
They passed by grim Corregidor, 
Slipped 'tween the sleeping forts ashore, 
And through the night straight onward bore 

Where Dewey led the way. 

And when the tropic morning broke, 

And Spaniards from their slumbers woke, 

They saw his bold fleet's sombre smoke 

Against the crimson sky; 
Then to their arms they sprang in haste, 
And decks were cleared and guns were placed, 
And soon across the vapory waste 

The shells began to fly. 

But fearless Dewey no whit stayed 
For all their furious cannonade, 
But steered in battle line arrayed, 

Through the confusion dire ; 
Till as the sun burst full and red 
Above the mists that 'round him spread, 
He to brave Gridley turned and said, 

"When ready, you may fire !" 



ij8 POEMS AND PICTURES 

Out blaze the ships with thunderous roar, 
Olympia first, then Baltimore, 
Raleigh and Petrel swell the score, 

Concord and Boston, too ! 
Around they go, then back again, 
While shot and shell are poured like rain, 
The cry goes up, "Think of the Maine, 

And give the dogs their due." 

Then from the stifling smoke and heat 
They for a breathing space retreat 
And break their fast, ere they complete 

The victory so near won ; 
Then back they steer, the stricken foe, 
His boats afire, his men laid low, 
Prepares him for the final blow, 

And answers gun for gun. 

But Spanish ships are bathed in blood, 
And many sink beneath the flood, 
Or fast in Canacao's mud 

Become of flames the prey; 
And Dyer with the Baltimore 
Has crushed the batteries ashore, 
And Stars and Stripes alone float o'er 

Wreck-strewn Manila Bay. 

IV 
THE MARINES AT GUANTANAMO 

(Guantanamo Bay, June io to 19, 1898) 

On Cuban soil they placed them, 
A dauntless little band, 

Where cruel Death could waste them, 
And bade them hold the land; 




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POEMS AND PICTURES 141 

Through days and nights to swelter, 

Or fight the skulking foe, 
That our ships might have shelter 

In blue Guantanamo. 

Not theirs to know the pleasure 

That gallant warriors feel, 
When armed strength they measure, 

To meet foes worth their steel, 
But just to battle only 

With lurking shapes of dread, 
Through night-long watches lonely 

Whence zest of strife had fled. 

By day the heat was deadly, 

And with the setting sun, 
The woods around flashed redly 

With many a Spanish gun ; 
And men in trenches lying 

Raged at their helplessness, 
Till nerves and brain were crying 

For respite from the stress. 

But still they kept undaunted 

Their camp beside the bay, 
And still their bright flag flaunted 

Above them where they lay, 
Till help came o'er the water, 

Then up they rose in might, 
And drove with vengeful slaughter 

The cravens far in flight. 

And then from hill and shoreland 

There rose a joyful din, 
And past the broad bay's foreland 

The ships came steaming in ; 



142 POEMS AND PICTURES 

Henceforth to lie defended 
Whatever storms might blow, 

For Spanish rule is ended 
In blue Guantanamo. 

V 

THE END OF THE SPANISH FLEET 

(Destroyed off Santiago, July 3, 1898) 

Safe in Santiago Bay- 
All the Spanish squadron lay, 

And the fleet of Sampson guarded at its mouth ; 
Said the admiral, "Let no ship 
From the harbor seaward slip," 

Then he steamed away on duty to the south. 

Fiercely blazed the tropic sun, 

Though the day had but begun, 
And to work the men moved sluggishly about, 

When the watch sent up a cry : 

"Pass the word along to Schley — 
Tell the commodore the foe is coming out !" 

Changed the scene in briefest space, 

Every man leaped to his place, 
While the Brooklyn flew the signal "clear for fight." 

And the gun crews shouted hoarse 

As the engines gathered force, 
And the fleet closed up to stay the Spaniards' flight. 

Out they came in smoking line, 

Turning west with one design, 
To run down the Cuban coast and out to sea ; 

Four stout cruisers, black and grim, 

Two destroyers, swift and slim, — 
Shall they then escape our vessels and go free? 



POEMS AND PICTURES 143 

Nay ! Iowa, hurl your shell, 

Indiana, smite them well, 
Pour your broadsides, gallant Texas, till they quail ; 

Little Gloucester, show your sting, 

Take them, Oregon, a-wing, 
Let no ship bear back to Spain the battle's tale. 

Brooklyn, yonder is your prey ! 

See ! Vizcaya steals away, 
And the Christobal Colon, their boast and pride; 

Now 'tis yours to serve our need, 

Force your fires, increase your speed, 
Overhaul them in their flight whate'er betide. 

And the Brooklyn, swift of keel, 

Drove her prow of shining steel 
Through the shell-erupted waters undismayed; 

And the Oregon joined in 

With her long guns' fearful din, 
And upon the flying cruisers havoc made. 

In an hour all were gone, 

Save alone the fast Colon, 
That far-off adown the coast still fought and fled ; 

But brave Schley clung to the chase, 

And bold Clark steamed up apace, 
While across the waters sang the missiles dread. 

Then the foe foresaw his fate, 

And twixt dastard fear and hate, 
Turned and ran his conquered ship on the shore ; 

And the battle-flag of Spain 

O'er the peaceful Western main 
Will unfurl its "blood and gold" nevermore ! 



i 44 POEMS AND PICTURES 

A TAILOR-MADE GHOST STORY 

Having heard a doubtful story on my friend, Philander 

Smith, 
I started out to learn if it was true or but a myth ; 
So I said to him severely, when in private we were met, 
"I am pained to hear, Philander, you repudiate a debt. 
You admit the allegation? Then be pleased to tell me 

straight 
Why you a trifling tailor's bill refuse to liquidate." 
Philander mused a moment, then he raised his truthful 

eyes, 
And with earnestness of manner, he responded in this 

wise. 
"The debt which you refer to was contracted for a suit 
That I wanted for the party of the wealthy Miss De Boot, 
And it would have been adjusted like all matters of the 

kind 
Had not a strange adventure brought about a change of 

mind. 
I returned home from the party very late and nearly 

dead, 
And was wearily preparing to dispose myself in bed, 
When a shadowy sort of something came between me 

and the light, 
And I turned to see a figure that o'erwhelmed me with 

affright ; 
A partly shrouded skeleton was standing by my chair, 
Regarding my new garments with an interested air, 
And while my startled senses whirled in chaos through 

my head, 
It finished its inspection and upon me turned and said, 
'No doubt you greatly wonder what it is that brings me 

here, 
Well, the fact is we grave dwellers find existence rather 

drear ; 



POEMS AND PICTURES 14s 

So to wake things up a little we are going to give a ball, 
And that little innovation is the reason of my call ; 
For lacking proper garments the diversion to attend, 
I have journeyed here this evening the deficiency to 

mend ; 
Having heard your reputation in the matter of attire, 
I calculated you could furnish just what I desire.' 
Then it grinned at me so meaningly my knees together 

smote, 
And my heart forsook my bosom and climbed up into 

my throat, 
But I mustered all my courage and I said in accents 

stern, 
'My ghostly friend, I rather think you've struck the 

wrong concern ; 
I do not keep a clothing store, nor do I suits supply 
To wandering cadavers who would earthly pleasures try, 
And, pardon the suggestion, but it really seems to me 
You need a coffin more than anything that I can see.' 
Thus I spoke, in manner fearless, but the figure gave no 

heed, 
But continued, 'This before mc is about the thing I need, 
So make haste and hand it over, for the night is on the 

wane, 
And before the morning brightens I must be at home 

again.' 
Then I cried, 'You shall not have it,' when a chill upon 

me fell, 
And my strength and will departed, banished by some 

dreadful spell, 
And I handed forth my garments, though it nearly broke 

my heart, 
And the figure seized upon them and made ready to 

depart, 
When I found the voice to utter, 'Will they no more 

meet my view? 



146 POEMS AND PICTURES 

I had just begun to wear them, and the tailor lacks his 

due/ 
'What !' the figure shrieked, 'you tell me that the bill is 

yet unpaid? 
That a rule I've nearly broken which I all my life 

obeyed ? 
There ! take back your cheap apparel, in my life I never 

wore 
E'en a single piece of clothing that had not been settled 

for;' 
And with that it threw r them at me, knocking me from 

out my chair, 
And when I struggled to my feet no sign of it was there. 
And on waking in the morning there my clothing lay 

outspread 
Where the dreadful thing had thrown them when it 

knocked me down and rled ; 
But whether it was real or not, there's one thing very 

plain, 
I don't propose to have the same experience again ; 
And, fearing that it might return and take my suit away, 
I don't intend to pay the bill this side the judgment day." 



THE CITY OF FAILURE 
A Fantasy 

Methought I journeyed in an unknown land, 
A place unlike aught I e'er saw or fancied, 

Where of myself I had no more command, 
But moved by some strange power, like one entranced. 

Some subtle force, from whence I gathered strength 
To cross o'er leagues of dearth and desolation 

Until I reached a ruined w r all at length, 
'Neath which I paused in sudden trepidation. 




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POEMS AND PICTURES i 4 g 

A massive gate across my pathway hung, 

Between two towers that marked some city's border, 

But from their heights no flaunting banner swung, 
Nor saw I sign of sentinel or warder. 

I ventured on, and slowly drawing near, 

I thought, they either sleep or are dissembling; 

And as my courage gained upon my fear, 
I gave a feeble hail, and waited, trembling. 

My voice awoke the echoes of the place, 
A jeering troop that mocked me with their riot — 

They raged about me for a moment's space, 
Then sank again to their primeval quiet. 

Naught else replied; upon the towers vast 
No watch appeared, nor any living mortal, 

And so I thrust the gate aside and passed, 

With quaking heart, unchallenged through the portal. 

Within, a mighty city met my gaze, 

With streets and lanes in seeming chaos blending, 
But plunging into the perplexing maze, 

I pushed ahead to learn my journey's ending. 

The street I entered seemed devoid of life, 

Throughout its gloomy length no one was stirring; 

No moving to and fro in busy strife, 

No healthy sounds of toil, no wheels a-whirring. 

The roadway had become a tangled mass 

Of weeds and vines that for its bed contested, 

And on the pave the interloping grass 
Thrust forth from every crevice unmolested. 

Neglect had made a ruin everywhere, 

Each weed-grown walk and crumbling habitation 
Showed that the place was dead to human care, 

And all was left to time's despoliation. 



ISO POEMS AND PICTURES 

So lonely it appeared, a sense of awe, 

A feeling as of death's dread presence thrilled me, 
Till, passing on my way, ere long I saw 

Some signs of life, whereat new courage filled me. 

Some creatures of my kind, that I descried, 
Not far ahead the grass-grown pathway threading", 

And hoping for some speech, with quickened stride, 
I drew beside them, wondering, yet dreading. 

My presence seemed to waken no surprise, 

No token gave they whither they were faring, 

But with despondent steps and weary eyes 
They moved along, unheeding and uncaring. 

Awhile I kept their apathetic pace, 

Then seeking one who less indifferent bore him, 
I asked where dwelt the ruler of the place — 

He raised his hand and pointed on before him. 

I looked, and in the distance I beheld 
A noble palace rising fair and stately, 

And straight, by that strange power still impelled, 
My steps I thither turned precipitately. 

A noble pile it was as e'er I saw, 

Although its beauties had with time diminished, 
And closer view discovered many a flaw 

Where careless hands had left their work unfinished. 

The massive steps that to the entrance led 

Had, like the walls, in places cracked and crumbled, 

And from the sculptured portico o'erhead 

Great blocks of stone upon the pave had tumbled. 

Awhile I stood with purposes at war, 

Still swayed between advancing and retreating; 

And oft I scanned the throng about the door, 
But no one stirred or gave me word of greeting. 



POEMS AND PICTURES 151 

All were as silent as the crumbling stone, 
Nor could I see that any there kept sentry; 

And when my foolish fancies were overthrown, 
I pushed into their midst and gained the entry. 

I found myself within a spacious hall, 

Filled with the fruits of human undertaking; 

Books, models, pictures, carvings, statues, all 
The varied objects of man's patient making. 

I pondered long upon their presence there, 
Not that they lacked in beauty or in meetness, 

But everything I saw, though seeming fair, 
Had some defect or look of incompleteness. 

There was no perfect work about the place, 
No masterpiece the faults of all redeeming; 

Nor saw I anywhere a human face 
That with the light of victory was beaming. 

No countenance that wore a happy look, 
As of success achieved through hard conditions, 

But on them all I read, as in a book, 

Of blasted hopes and unfulfilled ambitions. 

It was a place of sadness and of gloom, 

Whose stagnant life nor time nor season altered; 

And as I moved from crowded room to room, 
My heart grew heavy and my footsteps faltered. 

Yet must I learn who ruled this drear domain, 
And so I passed — my fears at length permitting — 

To where enthroned amid his solemn train 
The city's master sat in state befitting. 

His court was all in shadow — cobwebs gray 
Across each window hung a dusty curtain, 

Through which the sun sent in a sickly ray 
That made all things within vague and uncertain. 



1^2 POEMS AND PICTURES 

I entered straight, and sought the ruler's throne 
Before my fears could from my purpose win me, 

But as I strove to make my wishes known, 
I met his gaze, and courage died within me. 

Transfixed I stood beneath his eyes' dark spell, 
While brief he spoke in tones that made me cower 

"My name is Failure ; lest you here would dwell, 
Fly ere you feel my spirit's blighting power !" 



THE DEATH SHIP 
An Old Whaler's Story 

" 'Tis many a year since forth we sailed 

To tempt the Arctic seas ; 
The land upon our vision failed, 
The southern stars behind us paled, 

And northward blew the breeze. 

We reached the land of ice and snow, 

The ship caught in the drift ; 
The ice-stream bore us to and fro, 
Nor forward, backward, could we go, 
Save as the ice would shift. 

The thick green wall on either side 

Enclosed us like a tomb; 
The mists rolled downward in a tide, 
We heard the icebergs crash and slide, 

And thought it told our doom. 

The mists arose. Aslant the mast 

The sun at midnight shone; 
And still the ice-king held us fast, 
And still the days unchanging passed 
Until a month had flown. 



POEMS AND PICTURES ijj 

The tedious term ran on — one day 

A vessel came in sight. 
Across the ice we made our way, 
But as we drew near where she lay, 

She seemed deserted quite. 

She sent no answer to our hail 

Though we in chorus roared; 
We clambered o'er the icy rail, 
We saw a sight that made us quail — 

Death only was on board. 

The dead were here, the dead were there, 

They had a frightful look; 
A dead man filled the captain's chair 
And gazed with empty, ghastly stare 

Upon an open book. 

I took the volume green with mold, 

A dreadful tale I read; 
And oh, the might of Arctic cold ! 
Since last the pen the date had told, 

Full twenty years had fled. 

A sudden terror on us fell, 

And from the ship we rushed; 
We could not break the awful spell, 
Like men allowed a glimpse of hell, 

We were in spirit crushed. 

At last the ice-fields cracked amain, 

And open sea appeared; 
The sails that long had idle lain 
Grew rounded in the breeze again, ; 

And south the helmsman steered." ' 



ij4 POEMS AND PICTURES 

THE CAVE 
A Traveler's Tale 

This is the tale as it came to me 

From the bearded lips of my gray-haired guide, 
As we lay in the shade of a spreading tree 

And smoked our pipes on the mountain side : 
"I never journey among these hills 
But my heart anew with horror thrills, 
And memory brings back fresh and clear 
A dread adventure I met with here. 
I was in the prime of manhood then, 
Strong and active beyond most men ; 
Fond of hunting and roaming about, 
And glad as a boy could I but be out. 
In tramping 'round with my gun one day, 
The chase of a fox led me this way, 
And I followed him close and found his lair, 
A hole 'neath a rock in the valley there. 
I stooped to take a look at the place 
When a current of air blew o'er my face, 
A breath of a warm, dry atmosphere, 
And I cried at once, "A cave is here !" 
With my hunting-knife I scraped away 
From the narrow cleft the earth and clay, 
Till I thought the opening amply wide 
To enable me to crawl inside ; 
But first, with a hunter's clear foresight, 
I gathered some resinous boughs for light, 
Then with much trouble and frequent pause 
I worked my way in the cavern's jaws. 
Within I quickly kindled a blaze 
And gazed around by the feeble rays 
To see what manner of place I'd found 
Thus hidden away beneath the ground. 
I found myself in a gallery small, 
Scarce six feet wide from wall to wall, 
But stretching out in the further gloom 



POEMS AND PICTURES 155 

To a space my torch could not illume. 

The floor was a stiff, tenacious clay, 

With an upward slope as the valley lay, 

And down its slippery, winding length 

There ran a stream of goodly strength. 

I took my torch in a firmer grip 

And began my subterranean trip, 

Taking the streamlet for my guide 

And pressing on with eager stride. 

The cavern opened as I advanced, 

And my torch in many a byway glanced, 

And strangest figures and shapes in stone 

In the flickering light a moment shone; 

Pillars, white as the new-born snow, 

Rose up from the floor, row after row, 

And curtains wrought with gorgeous woof 

Hung motionless from the studded roof. 

I wandered onward, charmed, amazed 

By the many wonders at which I gazed, 

Till I came to a lake that stopped my course, 

And which I found was the streamlet's source. 

I swung my flaming pine-knot high 

And stared around with straining eye, 

But could not fathom the lake's extent, 

Nor see the roof that above it bent. 

I tossed a stone high overhead, 

And it sunk far out in the lake's dark bed, 

And the ripple that started where it fell 

Struck some distant cliff like a silvery bell. 

Then a foolish wish came in my mind — 

I wonder yet I could be so blind — 

But to hear my gun there I desired, 

And I pointed it up at the roof and fired. 

Heavens ! the din that followed that shot ; 

While I breathe it never will be forgot; 

The terrible sound ran to and fro 

And smote on my ears as with a blow. 

To the uttermost parts of the cave it fled, 



i 5 6 POEMS AND PICTURES 

With fainter roar as it further sped, 

Then back again in a swelling tide, 

By a thousand echoes multiplied. 

I seized my gun in frantic haste 

And down the gallery's slope I raced, 

Recking nothing of blows or falls, 

Nor aught but escape from the cavern's walls. 

On I ran in my headlong course, 

Till I struck a wall with fearful force, 

And back on the wet earth tumbled prone, 

With no more life than the senseless stone. 

How long I lay there I cannot say. 

My torch still showed a feeble ray 

When life returned to my dizzy brain 

And my sluggish pulses moved again. 

I struggled up and fanned my light 

Till it made the cavern chamber bright, 

And my eyes at once an object found 

That held me there in wonder bound. 

'Twas one of the pine boughs I had left 

When first I crawled through the narrow cleft 

Of the cavern's mouth; 'twas the self-same place, 

But of the cleft there wasn't a trace. 

I searched the rocky wall all o'er, 

Tried every crevice from roof to floor, 

And at last I learned with a dreadful shock 

That my shot or something had altered the rock 

And shut me there in a living tomb, 

With never a soul to know my doom. 

At first I felt a furious rage 

And splintered my gun-stock on my cage, 

Then threw the useless barrel aside 

And sat me down on the stones and cried. 

But when I had somewhat calmer grown, 

I stood my torch on a jutting stone. 

And gathered the fragments, every one, 

That had fallen from my splintered gun, 



POEMS AND PICTURES 157 

And a cheerful fire with these I made 

Which soon dispelled the cavern's shade; 

Then taking my torch I sought the slope 

Where the streamlet ran, with growing hope. 

In a bright cascade the water fell 

And sank from sight in a sort of well, 

Slipping away far underground 

With a ceaseless, bubbling, gurgling sound. 

Long while in its troubled depths I gazed, 

And at length my thoughts into action blazed; 

I picked the stones from the cavern floor 

Till beside the well I had a score ; 

Then into the narrow opening there 

I tumbled them with greatest care, 

And rejoiced to see they filled the space 

So that little water could leave the place ; 

Then from the floor I tore away 

Huge handfuls of the stiff red clay, 

And into each crack I let it drop 

Till the water flowed from the well's rough top 

And over the floor began to wind, 

For thus I had thought escape to find; 

By turning the stream from its former course, 

And make it an outlet elsewhere force 

An opening large enough for me 

To work my way to liberty. 

My torch by this was almost gone 

And the darkness swiftly coming on, 

So I climbed again o'er the rocks and mud 

To a safer place above the flood; 

Far up the slope I found a ledge, 

And scrambled over its ragged edge, 

But dropped in the act my bit of light 

And sat there whelmed in blackest night. 

Till then I had hardly felt a fear, 

But the frightful gloom and the silence drear 

And the thought that I there might end my life 



ijS POEMS AND PICTURES 

Struck through my heart like the thrust of a knife. 

Thus I sat for hours and scarcely stirred, 

Till the gathering waters beneath I heard, 

By which I knew that the rising tide 

Was slowly climbing the cavern's side. 

Higher it rose and further it spread, 

Till it lapped the ledge where I stood in dread ; 

Upward it crawled by slow degrees, 

Over my ankles, over my knees, 

Up to my waist its cold line grew, 

While a newer terror my senses knew; 

But ere the water had reached my face, 

A thunderous sound rang through the place, 

And the outward surge of the rushing flood 

Tore me away from where I stood, 

Bore me along on its mighty wave 

Down the gallery's length and out of the cave, 

Threw me at last against the hill, 

Where I lay exhausted and bruised and still, 

While the unchained torrent past me poured 

And on down the valley raged and roared 

Till the cave was dry, then it died away 

To the quiet stream that you see today." 

"RUN TO THE HILLS!" 

(An Incident of the Johnstown Calamity, May 31st, 1889) 

"Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" 

Through the doomed valley the warning it thrills ! 

Cried by a rider, whose foam-covered steed 

Carries him onward with marvelous speed, 

Bearing the news to the populous town 

Of the death-dealing deluge hurrying down. 

Shouting his cry, through the gathering gloom 

The messenger hurries, a herald of doom; 

Behind him the waters are rushing along 

Like a legion of tigers, blood-hungry and strong; 

And on through the valley that warning it thrills, 

"Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" 



POEMS AND PICTURES 759 

"Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" 

It rings through the streets, all the city it fills ! 

Preceding the rush of the terrible flood, 

That signal of danger but half understood, 

Received with a jest or incredulous jeer, 

Scoffed at and doubted when death was so near; 

Yet ever along on unwavering course 

The messenger flies on his furious horse, 

And nearer and clearer is heard the roar 

Of the mighty torrent he flies before; 

And on through the city that warning it thrills, 

"Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" 

"Run to the hills ! Run to the hills I" 

Faces it blanches and pulses it stills! 

As the mountainous wave, resistless and wide, 

Pours over the city its merciless tide, 

And the seething, surging, angry flood, 

Tearing through iron and stone and wood, 

Roaring and raging, onward sweeps, 

Piling the dead in horrible heaps, 

Grasping the horse and his rider brave, 

Dragging them under its pitiless wave; 

While o'er the mad waters that warning it thrills, 

"Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" 

"Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" 
This was the greatest of latter-day ills ! 
Thousands of souls swept away to their death ; 
Millions in property gone at a breath, 
The blackness of woe overshadows the place, 
And mourning and sorrow are seen on each face, 
Would they had paid to that warning more heed ! 
Would we could honor the man for his deed ! 
But deaf is he now to all honor and fame; 
'Tis even denied us to cherish his name. 
Brave, unknown rider ! Still his cry thrills, 
"Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" 







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